


The Millionaire Waltz

by Ballet_Shoe



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s, Dominance, Falling In Love, First Time, Flirting, Freddie is a tart and we love him for that, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Love, M/M, POV First Person, Possessive Sex, Romance, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Seduction, Sensual Play, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut, Tenderness, relationships, submissive Freddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-04-23 23:24:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19161130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballet_Shoe/pseuds/Ballet_Shoe
Summary: In 1975, young music manager John Reid is trying hard not to fall in love with his new enigmatic signee, while Freddie... well, Freddie is just being himself and is determined to have it his way. He plays fast and loose, coaxes tenderly and rebuffs coldly, reveals his secrets, and finally falls into John's arms - but for how long? And is it wise to follow your heart if you know that your life will never be the same with Freddie in it?..The story is focused on Freddie (POV John Reid), while Brian, Roger, Deacy and Jim Beach appear for a bit here and there. The Reid character is not linked to Rocketman, so he's not a scoundrel:)Background is Queen chronology from 1975 to 1977.





	1. As it began

A black-haired boy with irregular but striking features looked up sharply from his plate and dropped his knife and fork. He studied me for a while with those intense dark eyes of his, and then flashed me what I’d say was a pretty _big_ smile.

“We’ll get on swimmingly,” he said, and laughed out for no reason at all, covering his mouth with his hand.

And we did. We got on great. It wasn’t a particularly long period of my life, but it was a very happy one – most of it, anyhow. Life was different then, or maybe it seemed different, because we were young. We had the world at our feet, ready to be conquered. We could do everything. We could be everything.

Looking back, I never really think about the bad times, or the way it ended. I think about the music I helped discover, which was beautiful. I think about hot summer nights, Freddie’s laughter, and homebound airplanes touching down. I think about the way he looked at me sometimes when I held him in my arms. After all these years, I can say this: just as he sang in that ridiculously pathetic song of his, it was all about the way he made me feel – like a millionaire.

It was always about the way he made me feel.

* * *

 

In 1975, I was looking for a new band to sign, and a friend of mine invited me to see a bunch of guys who he said were really good. I had never heard of them, but he said they already had two or three LPs out and did some pretty successful touring. So to see them I went, and it turned out I was the lucky one: the other four prospective managers whom they invited that day didn’t bother coming.

The four boys, who looked very young, rather hopeful and extremely skinny, offered me a small private gig, and it turned out they did have both charisma and talent. From the very first moment I heard them play, I felt like a lucky gambler who hit a jackpot. In the middle of the third or forth song they did – I think it was _Liar_ – I made up my mind to sign them as soon as possible. They were definitely rock star material.

After the gig, we spent some time chatting and getting to know each other. Roger, the blondie, was pretty as a prom queen, and just as explosive. He was fun and I liked him, despite his weird sense of humor and the odd habit of staring at you somewhat owlishly in the middle of a conversation. Brian… well, Brian was the guy who wore clogs everywhere. He was a sweet soul though, and definitely a genius with the guitar. I was sure his dreamy full-lipped face would make a lot of girls go crazy – well, the smarter ones, for sure. John, whom everyone called Deacy, was more or less a closed book. He looked mild and quiet, but I had a feeling he was probably the most headstrong one of the bunch. He knew what he wanted, and he definitely was a man of hidden depths.

Now Freddie, he was something completely different. I couldn’t make him out. On stage, he was a glam diva – loud, wild, seductive, wicked even. To my surprise, when the gig ended, he turned into a sweetest, nicest boy I’ve ever met, very polite and extremely self-conscious. The two of us hit it off right away. We felt quite at ease with each other.

I must say here that when I refer to Freddie as “a boy” I’m actually playing the big music business daddy thing – in truth, he was three years older than me. It never showed. I always looked quite old for my age, and I know that I have never been handsome, even at 25. I tried to compensate by wearing really expensive suits.

 

When we sat down to discuss our future contract, we decided that in a month or so, after the preliminary paperwork is complete, the band will go somewhere quiet – I had Surrey in mind – and work on a new LP. Meanwhile, to make use of the time, I started taking them out now and then to parties and outings. I wanted the boys to see how this side of music industry worked and to meet useful people. The band didn’t socialize much previously, and to be honest, they didn’t have an opportunity to: few people knew them, and they had close to no connections.

I, on the other hand, had quite a few. After my six years in business, my name already opened some doors, and I was pretty happy to go through these doors with beaming Freddie on my arm. His pure enjoyment was something that did you good to look at. Even though my role was that of a sophisticated chaperon, Freddie’s company inexplicably made me feel very young – as if I was rediscovering familiar places and people afresh, through Freddie’s eager eyes.

Freddie tended to be very shy around new people, reserved even, but when he had a friend by his side – and he always had me now – it boosted his confidence and he chatted, flirted, and easily made people fall for him wherever he went. The mix of sweetness and coyness he radiated seemed to be irresistible, and I must confess that I felt some proprietary delight in seeing him so successful. This boy was definitely going places.

And yet – time went by, and I had just as little idea who he really was as I did on day one. Freddie seemed to have… well, layers, for the lack of a better word. To the outside world, he was a daring, flamboyant performer and carefree partygoer. Underneath it, he had a softer, affectionate side, which he opened up to those who were allowed to come closer. Further below, I could catch a glimpse of a deeper layer, where insecurity reigned. And there was something else, which stayed hidden from everyone, all the time. In his heart of hearts, Freddie remained an enigma.

It is common knowledge that when you face an enigma you can’t solve, you start thinking about it more, and more, and more, until it is etched in your mind for good.

That was how all the trouble started.

 

I had my vices, and what’s more – I had experience in music business, and by 1975 I was somewhat hardened by it. For all I knew, Freddie could have been an angel fallen from the sky, but angels were an uncommon breed in the industry. I had seen dozens of sweet and quiet boys just like him lying, cheating, jumping from bed to bed, selling their body and soul for a gold disc. There was nothing sacred in the music world, and very little was tabooed.

So of course, I fully intended to make a pass at him whenever I saw an opening.

Given my circumstances, I had already learnt earlier in life to separate business from pleasure, and I wasn’t going to let my escapades affect the contract. I wanted this band to work with me, they were one of a kind, and I didn’t need advances from Freddie to corroborate it. However, I saw no harm in playing around a little as we went along. He was an attractive boy, handsome in his exotic way. The long black hair, high cheekbones and the intense dark eyes gave him a slightly demonic air, which hinted of passions within, and he also had the most slender thighs I’ve ever seen. That was good enough for me to make up my mind to test the waters. 

It happened on the evening when I took him out to dinner and told him that I was gay. I though he needed to know it anyway to avoid any further misunderstanding, but I also wanted to provoke him a bit. Earlier Freddie mentioned something about a girlfriend, or whatever, and said he had commitments, but I mean – the boy was wearing eyeliner and girls’ satin pajama tops for t-shirts, so come on.

Curiously enough, he readily announced he was gay too. He was so camp and sure of himself that I felt an irresistible urge to tease him.

“Marvelous, now my place or yours?” I said briskly.

It was funny seeing poor Freddie, who was very bold two minutes ago, going pale, and the next moment blushing hard as a boarding-school girl.

“John, I… I’m… I really don’t think I cou… I, well…” he stumbled.

I couldn’t help laughing.

“Freddie, I’m just joking. Don’t worry, you don’t have to blow me to get a contract. I’m signing the band anyway. Bands like yours are a rare find.”

Freddie was visibly relieved. In that moment I realized how important his music must have been for him. It actually took him _longer than a minute_ to tell me no.

“I just wanted to say that you’re a very beautiful boy. I’d love you to be my friend.”

“I _am_ your friend, John, for as long as you want me,” Freddie said earnestly and raised his glass. “To friends, then?”

“To friends,” I responded. “With benefits.”

Freddie was already back to his usual playful self.

“I’m sure you will be a perfect gentleman,” he reclined in his chair, graceful as a cat.

 

A few days later I received a proof that Freddie was the one who always gets the last laugh.

I took him along to a matinee at the Royal Ballet, where a friend of mine danced in _Giselle_. Freddie liked ballet, and I thought it would be a nice treat for him before going away for the entire summer and locking himself in a barn in the middle of the woods to record the new LP. We decided to get some flowers for the person who invited us, and I took Freddie to the flower shop to help me choose a bouquet. He had an eye for colors and beauty like no one else I knew.

Carrying a large fragrant bunch of bright pink roses, peonies and what not, we packed into the backseat of my car and set off to the theatre. The conversation ceased, and I was pondering on my work duties and the flight I had to take to Vienna the next day to see a venue for Elton.

Suddenly I felt a slender hand sliding down my inner thigh, hidden by the bouquet. It was so unexpected that I shuddered and turned around sharply.

Freddie was peacefully looking out of the window. I leaned to his ear.

“Freddie. What exactly are you doing?” I said in a low voice. It came out rather angrily.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, darling,” he cooed without missing a beat. “I really thought it was _my_ thigh. Look, this freesia here has crumpled a little. Could you please be a bit more careful?”

“That’s a great piece of advice, Freddie,” I fumed. “Really great, thank you so very much for it.”

“You’re always welcome,” he answered, smiling broadly.

He was royally amused.


	2. My fine friend

There were two important things we still needed to do before signing a contract.

The first one was to identify exactly how much shit we were going to end up in after we terminated the band’s previous engagement with Trident Studios. It was one mess of a contract that they signed when they were just entering the industry, and the terms were so unfavorable that the band was slaving away while getting close to no money at all. By 1975, they were heavily in debt already.

We needed to get them out of it, and the bad thing was that there were bound to be unpleasant surprises. The termination fees were massive, and what’s worse, there were hidden charges. It all had to be unraveled, straightened out, and hopefully mitigated.

The task required eagerness and certain acquaintance with the industry. And here came Jim – a young vigorous lawyer we employed. Fresh from Cambridge, he was very white-collar and a little overbearing. Normally I didn’t like the type, but Jim was fine, and he also was very much into music himself. Tickled by the challenge, he set to work assiduously. I told him to let me know when he had the final numbers, and left him beavering away at the case.

The pre-contract stage was going to take some time, and meanwhile I didn’t want my boys to starve to death, so I decided in favor of a little incentive. I signed out two checks – one for the band and a separate one for Freddie. It wasn’t a particularly big sum, but I wanted them to be able to pay off the most pressing debts, buy something they wanted, and breathe out a little. I needed them happy and healthy, so that they could go out there and record the best LP they ever made.

 

The second important thing to be done that month was to go shopping. The Japanese fan community kindly requested some exclusive promo materials, and wanted to send in a media delegation who would draft a few stories on the recording routine and do a photoshoot of the band. Freddie was always in for a photoshoot, but he wanted to get some new clothes for himself and the others.

“They can’t be bothered to shop, and next thing you know, they come over and pinch my stuff,” he complained.

I had some time on my hands, and he happily invited me to come along. I soon regretted it: Freddie being Freddie, he dragged me to a flea market in Kensington. I hadn’t been to flea markets for ages and I couldn’t say I particularly missed the experience, but Freddie was in his element. He knew everyone, and with little noises of sheer exultation he rummaged around, picking up things here and there and constantly asking me for my opinion. I had none whatsoever, and was hanging around dully.

I offered to pay for the stuff he set his heart on – new trinkets for everyone, a black dotted shirt for Deacy, and some miscellaneous rubbish.

“You’re so kind,” Freddie was all smiles. “No, I don’t think they take cards, dear. Do you have any cash on you?..”

When we were walking back to the car, Freddie was suddenly apologetic.

“I hope it wasn’t a nuisance,” he looked at me meekly. “I thought you’d get something nice for yourself too, but you didn’t really like anything there, did you?”

“It’s all right, Freddie, it’s just not my kind of thing. It looks great on you guys, but I’m not a musician. I’m more into classic stuff.”

We were just passing a gentlemen’s boutique, which looked very chaste and expensive in contrast to the grubby place we just left. Freddie pointed at the softly lit shop windows.

“Stuff like this?”

“Yes, kind of like this,” I consented.

“Can I have a look? I’d love to have a look,” he asked brightly.

We went in and looked around for a bit, and he was soon engrossed by the jewelry section.

“Isn’t it lovely? I think it would suit you just fine,” he asked, pointing out a thin golden bracelet. It was nice, but definitely not my style.

“No, not quite. I’d rather go for…” I scrutinized the display case and picked out a pair of low-key silver cufflinks with tiny J-s engraved on them. “These ones, probably.”

“Why don’t you get them then?” Freddie was clearly ready to do some more shopping.

“Maybe some other time,” I smiled. We hung around the shop for a bit longer and left.

 

The next morning I went to my office for an update with Jim. When I got to my desk, there was a small box waiting for me.

Mystified, I opened it and there were the cufflinks we saw the other day in the shop. There was a little note enclosed, which read:

_To my fine friend_

_Thank you for being so kind to us all_

_Lots of kisses,_

_Freddie_

Where on earth did he get the money, I wondered, and then remembered the check I gave him a few days ago. I also remembered very well how much these particular cufflinks cost. The amounts were nearly identical.

The silly boy.

It was the most pathetic waste of money I had seen in months, but despite myself I was rather touched. I took off the cufflinks I was wearing and put the new ones in. They matched the suit and the shirt very well.

 

Jim didn’t sound very enthusiastic when he came in for the meeting. I asked him to take me through all the papers we would need to sign, and talk over several particular clauses.

“There is something we need to discuss before we do it, I’m afraid,” he sighed.

“Let’s hear it,” I nodded.

“I’ve run through everything, and the termination fees are higher than we expected.”

“How much higher?

 _“Really_  higher. John, are you quite sure you want to sign them? The Trident wants a lot, and I can’t say it looks like a feasible investment.”

“What sum are we talking about?

“A hundred thousand.”

_“Fuck!”_

“You want more good news? They want it within three days from now, or the deal’s off and they’re raising more charges.”

The sum was ridiculously big. Not that I didn’t have it – I could get my hands on ten times this much if I needed – but it just wasn’t done this way. To get the money on such short a notice meant to take it out of business and bring on substantial losses and very much inconvenience. And all this for the bunch of nobodies stuck in the middle of nowhere recording god knows what. Who might shoot to stardom tomorrow. Or they might not.

“What do _you_ think?” I asked Jim.

“It’s not going to sound very professional,” he sighed. “But the thing looks like a sheer gamble right now. It’s up to you, either we’re in or we’re out.”

“You mean I have to pay it from my own money? Will I ever get it back?”

“Well… Fortune favors the bold, that’s all I can say.”

“Is there any guarantee?”

“None whatsoever,” Jim sounded almost cheerful.

Obviously I had to say no. Talented lads though they were, everything had its limits. I had really set my mind on signing them and it would be a shame not to, but I _had_ to drop them and let them go. I had other responsibilities to handle, and I had my business reputation to think about. I wasn’t prepared to blow it all away in a heartbeat.

I thought it over and over, my fingers fidgeting.

_Thank you for being so kind to us all_

_Lots of kisses_

“Tell them it’s a deal,” I finally said. “I’ll bring the cash tomorrow.”

 

Later that week we signed the contract – on the eve of the band’s departure to the Ridge Farm, where they were going to spend about a month creating and rehearsing the preliminary material for the new LP. It was a solemn affair, and everyone dressed up and looked the part. We did the actual signing, and then we opened a bottle of champagne and took a photo together. Freddie stood next to me, his hand on my shoulder, other hand holding the glass.

There are few photos of Freddie and me together, and I have to admit that in most of them I look stupid as fuck. This one wasn’t an exception. I smile now at the thought of how cool and sophisticated I believed myself to be at that time – while in reality my feelings were written all across my blissfully happy face. In caps.

I wasn’t just wearing my heart on my sleeve, I was waving it on a banner while standing on the roof of the Empire State Building. I’m sure Freddie was perfectly able to see it too. His face, on the other hand, could have made a sphynx bitter with envy. I’m looking at the photos, and even now I have no idea what was on his mind that very day.


	3. Anyway the wind blows

About two weeks later, the Trident termination deal was officially closed. Jim rang me up to say we were good and asked if he should let the band know. I said I would do it myself, and five minutes later I picked up the phone to call the Ridge Farm. It was already ringing when I suddenly changed my mind. This was big news. It was better I told them in person – besides, I should be checking on them regularly, since my money was now involved. I trusted Freddie and Brian as far as songwriting went, and it would be bad form to voice any concerns just yet, but there was still a tiny chance they could end me up with some complete rubbish of an LP. I’d better go and check, just in case.

“That’s wonderful, dear, come over by all means. When will you be down?” Freddie sounded miles away, his voice distorted by bad connection.

I said around eight.

“Wonderful,” he repeated. “I’ll be waiting. You know, I really…”

The line got disconnected. Neither of us called back.

When I finished my duties for the day, I went home for a quick change and set off to the farm. It felt nice to wear a loose cotton shirt and shorts, and my heart soared, for no reason at all – or so I said to myself. It was close to six, but the day was extremely hot, and so bright I couldn’t even look at the road signs dazzling in the sunshine. I was driving through the endless green fields of the countryside, with my window down and heavy scent of fresh hay making my head spin a little after the city smog.

When I reached the farm, to my surprise, I saw Freddie sitting on the lawn, alone. He was dressed in white, which is of course so very practical in the countryside, and had a moody look, his long legs crossed, eyes on the ground. In the evening light he looked darker than usual, or maybe he just put on some tan. When he saw my car, he brightened up and got up to meet me with a smile.

“There you are, looking all summery,” he chanted. “Is it the first time I see you without a suit?”

“Hi Freddie,” I said bluntly. “The deal is closed. You’re free from Trident now. We’ll also cover the worst debts, so you can go ahead with the recording.”

Freddie froze and looked at me in a kind of childish awe, as if I was a wizard. His dark eyes glinted with pleasure. His hand flew up and hovered in the air uncertainly, and then he pressed it to his forehead.

“John, I… I have no words,” but the awe soon turned into mischievousness. Nobody could awe Freddie for longer than a minute. “So we can go and be rich and famous now, right?”

“Exactly,” I smiled. “Just finish this bloody LP for me first.”

I saw that he was struggling to ask something else and didn’t know how.

“Did you… did it… Jim mentioned the other day that you paid them quite a lot from your own pocket. We were all wondering how much was that?”

“A hundred thousand,” I shrugged. Freddie fell silent, lips pressed tight, all mischievousness gone.

“Relax,” I touched his chin lightly. “I once bought Elton an emerald ring which cost me around that much. You’ll be my crown jewel. Let’s go tell the others.”

The sun was almost down, and as we walked towards the house, I saw the ancient oak trees in the lawn turn dark gold. The air didn’t stir. It was going to be just one of those hot midsummer nights. I was quite happy to be out of town for a while, London was murder in this weather. I felt very light-hearted walking slowly with Freddie by my side, our shoulders touching, little pebbles scrunching under our feet.

“How are the boys doing?” I asked.

“Oh, I hate them today,” he said lightly, glad to change the subject. “We’ve been bitching about everything. We’re the bitchiest band on Earth, we can’t decide on a single bloody thing!”

“Well, I hope you hadn’t killed each other yet? That would be my hundred thousand going to dogs.”

“No, but I can’t guarantee we won’t kill each other tomorrow. I’m sick and tired of being the peacemaker, really.”

“So what do you do now?”

“I get on their nerves,” he answered viciously. “They are so easy to rattle, poor things. You’ll see.”

“Easy, tiger,” I laughed, as we reached the front door.

“I feel like being evil tonight,” Freddie made some kind of clawing motion with his hand, which actually looked quite sensual, and pulled the door open. He walked into the room briskly, swaying his hips, and announced the news.

Roger and Brian looked up from the magazine they were reading. I saw they were exhausted and out of sorts, so I said we would go through the details later on in London, and just gave the two of them and Freddie a quick heads-up on how everything was going to work from now on, mentioned the payouts and a few things I had in mind for them promotion-wise. They looked pleased, although to be honest, I don’t think they cared very much. The only business mind in the group was Deacy, and he took the evening off to go to London. The rest just wanted to hear we got rid of Trident, end of story.

“The bad witch is gone,” Freddie summed up my speech, and, craving attention, perched himself on the table, his butt on Roger’s magazine. “Let’s all dance and sing!”

“Shame we still have a witch of our own,” snapped Roger. He and Freddie had clearly been fighting all day. Puffing angrily, the petite drummer pulled the magazine out, accidentally tearing the page in two. “The tooth fairy, more like.”

Brian and me sniggered in unison, unable to stop ourselves. Freddie’s eyes flashed at us vindictively.

“Oh by the way, boys. Do you know John here bought us for a hundred thousand? Who will be the first to give him a thank you kiss?”

I knew we had it coming. Roger rolled his eyes, and Brian chuckled good-naturedly.

“That sounds like a lot, John, we all owe you thanks,” he said.

“No silly, you owe him a kiss! Come on. Kiss him, will you? And not a peck, a proper kiss!” Freddie clapped his hands.

Brian smiled. He was obviously used to brushing off these jokes.

“What a bore. Rog? We all know John likes a blond! Come on, kiss-kiss! Or he’ll sell us on, since we can’t even write a decent song, can we?”

Roger breathed out loudly, but Freddie shrilled on.

“You two could go get a room, or a garage, if you’re so inclined…”

“Sod it, Fred,” Roger exploded, got up with a crash, and stormed out of the room.

“If you’ll excuse me. Good night John, thanks a million,” Brian rose and quickly followed Roger.

“Not even a goodnight kiss, how is that?” Freddie screamed viciously as the door clicked shut.

I watched this circus, held partly at my expense, with amusement, and when we were left alone with Freddie, I slowly walked up to him. He was still sitting on the table, sneering at me, and I leaned on the table edge, my hands right next to his thighs. Let’s keep on joking, shall we.

“I could do with a kiss from _you_ ,” I said, drawing forward. His face was so close that I could see a tiny mark on his lower lip where he had bit it. I wondered what could make him bite his lips so hard.

“One kiss doesn’t make up for a hundred thousand quid,” Freddie narrowed his eyes. He was talking in a very low voice now. “What else will you have me do?”

“It depends on how good you are,” the room was hot, and I felt a tiny bead of sweat speeding down the back of my neck. My lips parted slightly, and I saw Freddie flicking his gaze to them for an instant. His eyelashes quivered.

Next second he pulled back sharply.

“I’m very good,” he said, “At writing songs. I can play you one.”

 

I stood next to his grand piano in the empty studio and listened to him playing “the song”. It was beautiful indeed. When he was at the piano, he became a creature from another world. His long fingers swiftly ran up and down the keyboard, and sometimes he crossed hands – probably for show, but anyway, it sounded great. I wondered if he was singing about himself. He never meant to make anyone cry, that much was true.

He broke off mid-chord.

“The rest still needs some work, but it will be a sweet little number in the end,” he said apologetically.

 

After he played me some tapes from the day’s rehearsal, and I was content to see that in all probability the LP wasn’t going to sound like rubbish after all, I said my goodbyes and went back to the car. In the middle of the lawn I slowed down. Everything was pitch black, I couldn’t see a thing, except for some stars and the outline of the Ridge house – not a single window alight. Normally I’m not a person prone to sentiment, but I was young, and the night felt somehow out of the ordinary, so I took a moment to breath in the warm air. Maybe I just didn’t want to go away so soon.

As I stood there, I heard the gravel rustle behind me, and the next moment someone was holding me close, arms around my waist. I knew it was Freddie without even looking. I realized I came to know his smell – some kind of fresh citron soap, very subtle.

“Thank you, John,” Freddie whispered very quietly. I knew it was something meant for my ears only.

I turned around. It was so dark I couldn’t even make out his face, but I felt the warmth of his body, trembling with tension, as if ready to flee. I reached out and put my hand on the back of his head, running his coarse hair through my fingers. Then I gently pulled him closer, and he leaned forward obediently. Before I knew it, he was kissing me, slowly at first, then firmly, more determined. His lips felt warm, and I melted into their soft but insistent pressure.

As the kiss grew deeper, sweet shivers shot up and down my spine, and without thinking, I slid my hand under his shirt. Freddie bolted immediately, and in the dark he was gone, just like that. I resumed my walk to the car, and while I was driving home, I could feel his salty taste lingering on my lips.

The rest still needs some work, but it will be a sweet little number in the end, I thought as I went to bed.


	4. Dreamers ball

I saw little of Freddie until the summer was over. The band was meticulously working day and night to finalize the recording. They had to jump from studio to studio – I think they changed about six of them, Ridge Farm and Rockwell being unable to offer all the capacities they required. Among those was everything from a harp (in 1975, on a rock-n-roll album, for god’s sake!) to a dozen of tin buckets (don’t even ask). And of course, lots, lots of tape. 

I also had my hands full, preparing the publicity agenda and prearranging some gigs. We were close to striking a deal with BBC on a broadcast, but the ground was still shaky. I was desperately busy and didn’t have time to track the band’s recording schedule, leave alone follow them physically.

Fortunately, neither did I have time to brood over the tingling, electrifying sensation that came all over me the moment I suddenly felt Freddie’s lips pressed against mine on that hot midsummer night. The memory was already fading away, as if I had simply dreamed it all up. I needed to see him to make sure it really happened, but something told me it wasn’t a good idea after all. I couldn’t make up my mind what to do, so I decided to let the things drift, and did nothing.

One way or another, by mid-October the most expensive album in history was finally complete. When I heard the really-really-final-I-swear-to-god-no-more-changes version, the LP sounded a bit odd, but not in a bad way. It did have a few solid hits on it with strong charts potential. I personally counted on Deacy’s very sweet little ballad. It had a good beat to it.

And then of course there was the _Rhapsody_ thing. Only Freddie could burst into the world of music and create something like this. He played the first part for me that evening at the farm and it was good, but when I heard the entire song in its full glory, it was phenomenal. I told the band just so.

“We know that, dear,” answered Freddie with grace.

I couldn’t say he was avoiding me as such when we finally met with the band for a proper update. He was perfectly friendly and laughed a lot, being in high spirits because the record was complete and the touring was about to start – he wanted to see how the audiences would react to their new songs. He took a seat in the far corner of the room, and sometimes I caught him looking at me fixedly in a way I couldn’t quite discern.

I didn’t have much time to spare on guesswork though. We had more serious things to discuss. Freddie set his heart on releasing the _Rhapsody_ as the major single of the LP. Although I liked the song enormously as a listener, I liked is far less as a professional. Being over six minutes long, it was definitely a no-go for any radio station, and without radio there was no way we could make it sell. I suggested we work together on shortening it somehow. To my surprise, the band was adamant in their refusal to even think about it. Brian and Roger were plainly indignant. Deacy seemed to have his doubts, but anyhow, he didn’t voice them. Freddie was quiet.

I tried to reason with them. I offered all the arguments I could think of. It was all in vain.

“Can we hold it up for a week?” Freddie spoke out finally. “I have a bit of a plan.”

I had absolutely no idea what he had in mind, and I was certain that nothing could be done. But one week was a request I could grant, and so I did.

 

Freddie took on the unsolvable issue in the way so characteristic of him that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He knew very well that I was right in saying we couldn’t sell the song without getting it to the radio. And so he simply went and got it to the radio – by charming his new friend Kenny, coincidentally a radio DJ, into it. Piece of cake, really.

“I knew you would be mad,” he said brightly after relating the full story to me. He was obviously very proud of himself. “So I just went and did it.”

We were having a late evening drink in the semi-dark Ritz lounge. Freddie loved the place. It was very private. We used to go there before a night out.

“Freddie, you know that won’t do,” I tried to be serious, but I couldn’t help smiling. It was so absurd, only one person in the world could have pulled it off, and this person was sitting right in front of me, long dark eyelashes cast down demurely. I made an effort to collect myself. “It worked out great this time, but next time it won’t. There are risks. There are commitments. You can’t just run around and do whatever you want, when it comes to business.”

“Oh, but why can’t I?” he smiled and added hotly, “He played it twelve times in one day, John! Twelve fucking times! It caught on like crazy, now everyone is playing it. Every bloody station in this country is playing my song, can you believe that?”

“I know, Freddie, and the song deserves all that and more. But we discussed it. You must run all these things by me first. Please do. These are my terms if you want to continue working together.”

“Oh, you won’t walk out on us dear, will you?” Freddie cooed sweetly.

“Now, don’t waste this bullshit on me. I don’t work at a radio station,” I grinned. Freddie’s eyes were gleaming with delight.

We sipped our champagne, and I pondered on whether I should say something that had been nagging at my mind for a few days. I could pass it off as a joke. The moment was convenient.

“I remember seeing you with Kenny at that Mick’s party we went to last week. You were flirting away with him as if there was no tomorrow.”

Freddie looked up at me sharply. I felt my cheeks burning, which was bloody ridiculous.

“I was,” he agreed calmly.

Freddie’s long fingers were slowly running up and down the stem of the champagne glass. I’d rather he stopped doing that.

“Would you like me to flirt with you instead?” he suddenly asked.

“Don’t play with me, Freddie,” I felt the familiar tingling starting deep within my body.

“What if it’s not a game? I _know_ you liked the kiss.”

Freddie’s eyes were very dark in the dim light, almost black. I was slowly drowning in their depth, like a man caught in a quicksand. One more move, and you’re gone under.

“Your bill, sir,” the soft voice of the waiter broke the charms. I handed him my Amex.

 

At the party where we headed after the drinks – it was Mott the Hoople’s new gold disc celebration – I bitterly regretted my words about Kenny, because this time Freddie set his mind on flirting with literally _everyone_ instead. He was doing it with much gusto and seemed totally engrossed and highly amused.

As Mott the Hoople were “family friends”, Brian and Deacy came to the party too. Freddie was so worked up that I think he even tried to flirt with Brian for a bit, but he realized very soon that it was pretty much as worthwhile as trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon. I’d actually bank on Deacy if I were him, but for some reason or other Freddie didn’t consider that an option.

Anyway, champagne flowed, everyone was having fun, the night was young, and life was sweet and full of possibilities yet undiscovered. We had a great time at the party, which buzzed on into the small hours of the morning. As it was very late – or very early, depending on how you look at it – I offered to give my boys a ride home.

We all packed into my car – Freddie almost in my lap, still thrilled with excitement, Brian next to us, brooding and a little dazed, as he usually was when drunk. Deacy sat in the front seat, unperturbed as ever, champagne making him chat lively to the chauffeur.

Freddie and I started gossiping about everyone who was at the party, their looks, their musical – and other – abilities, their beaus, and such. He tried to engage Brian, but the lanky guitarist kept dozing off, waking up again every time the car hit a bump in the road.

When we got to Freddie’s place, which was the closest, I had to get out of the car first to let him out. The night breeze already had a touch of frost to it, although it was late October, and I gathered my coat around me. Freddie lingered, holding on to the car door.

“You’ll still need to give it back to me, you know,” he said quietly, as I made a move to get back inside.

“I’m sorry, I don’t get it. Give what?” I stopped.

“The kiss,” Freddie’s smile was coy. “I gave you a kiss. A _good_ one. You’ll need to give it back.”

Here we go again, when least expected. I was at a loss for words. With something close to annoyance, I got into the car.

“Oh, don’t be mad. It’s just a give and take thing, darling,” said Freddie smugly, and closed the car door with a thump.


	5. Lap of the gods

The new LP was a success, and the first gigs of the domestic tour went on very well. However, a few weeks later we had another issue, and that one was big.

When the album was recorded, Freddie, being in one of his dark moods, penned a very harsh song – about a _death on two legs who never had a heart_ – and dedicated it to their former management at Trident. We all thought it a very good joke, except for Brian, who didn’t even want to play it at first. Then we forgot about it, and the dedication somehow made it to the album back cover. Looking at Freddie, I wasn’t so sure it had been unintentional.

The LP was released, and very soon the dedicatees got the message. And sued us for infamy.

Thanks to Jim, we managed to make it an out-of-court settlement, but it was a close shave. Now the really, really, really important thing was for the entire band to lay low for a while and refrain from making any kind of public comment or even reference to the matter. As well as to any _nasty old men they used to know_. This meant – no interviews without me or Jim present.

I met with the band before their London show at the Odeon in November, and briefed them thoroughly. Then I briefed them once again. I had to fly out to New York that night for a couple of days, so I had to come over to the venue, as the matter couldn’t wait.

I stayed and watched the show for a bit. It was good, but I couldn’t take my mind off business. When Brian started his solo, I decided to go backstage again, where I knew the rest of the band would be having a quick repose, and recap.

When I came into the dressing room, Deacy was lying on the sofa with his feet on the armrest, Roger was puffing loudly and drying his face and chest on a towel, and Freddie was at the make-up table, holding a glass of water and staring ahead of him at nothing in particular.

“Yes, yes, we got you,” Roger snarled when I started on about the interviews again. “We’re not stupid!”

Deacy chuckled audibly, and Roger looked hard at him but said nothing.

“Freddie?” I crossed my arms.

“Don’t worry, dear,” he drawled. “I got it too. I always remember my obligations.”

Freddie turned to look at himself in the mirror. He changed into his black satin costume earlier, during the _Rhapsody_ , and now he was adjusting it delicately and fluffing his hair. 

“Do you remember yours?” he asked, without turning around.

Aha, I thought. Here we are, talking kisses again, after a month of behaving as if we were “best of friends, dear”. I really thought it was all over for good.

“Right. I forgot I owed you something,” I said dismissively. “When do you want it back?”

I could see Freddie’s face in the mirror. He met my gaze.

“Tonight,” he said.

“All right, guys, we’re gonna be late,” Deacy got up, slapped his thighs and stretched. “John, give him back his five quid or whatever’s that you owe him, and let’s go.”

We left the dressing room and moved towards the stage together with the two roadies. We could hear Brian playing on. In the corridor Freddie slowed down.

“Damn it, my bracelet. Wait, I need to fix it.”

Roger looked back and slowed down too. Freddie waved at him.

“No, no, you go, I’ll be there in a minute, John will help me.”

On cue, I took his wrist and pretended to fumble with the snap.   

When the rest of the group turned around the corner, Freddie looked around quickly, and then grabbed me by the arm and towed sideways into a den where spare equipment and other junk was kept. That’s one more reason to love a live gig, I thought. Backstage is always full of dark corners.

“Here, come on,” he turned around to face me. “Now hurry up, before they come bloody looking for us.”

“So you _do_ want me to kiss you?”

Freddie rolled his eyes.

“No, I just enjoy hanging around cubbyholes and being late for my entrance. Will you do it or not?”

“I might, if you ask me to.”

Freddie pulled me towards him hurriedly, but I put my hand on his chest, stopping him. He looked at me in surprise. I smiled and brushed his hair, a little mussed and sweaty, away from his forehead. Then I let my fingertips slide down to his chin. Very softly, I started tracing his lips with my thumb, pressing gently.

I knew that time was running short, and so the best fun was to take it slow.

Freddie’s lips parted, obedient to my touch. He was catching on to the game. I drew closer, pushing him against the wall, and then stopped again for a few seconds. He inhaled shakily and closed his eyes. But I wasn’t going to kiss him just yet.

The tingling sensation was all over me again. Freddie was so close that I could feel the heat of his body through the thin cotton of my shirt. He waited, his eyelids quivering.

“John.”

I could barely hear him in the din of Brian’s guitar reverberating and distorted by the cramped space of the backstage corridor.

“Yes, Freddie?” I whispered. His breath tickled my skin.

Freddie opened his kohl-rimmed eyes. In the semi-darkness that enveloped us I could see their glowing, tantalizing gaze.

“Will you?.. Darling?..”

I leaned in and gently, very gently sucked on his lower lip, probing it with my tongue. Then I bit it softly. He gasped, and I covered his mouth with mine, pressing him hard into the wall as he flung his arms around my neck.

Suddenly we heard the sound of Roger’s drums coming back, blending in with the guitar solo. The time was up.

Freddie groaned, shot me a reproachful look, and darted off, out of sight. A few moments later I heard him coming in with the song reprise.

 

I stayed in the corridor for a while, trying to catch my breath. Then I readjusted my jacket, ran my hand through my hair, and went to watch the show. I had some twenty minutes more to spare before starting off to the airport.

I didn’t want to go down to the floor this time, so I stayed in the wings of the stage, behind the console. Since they had to play several nights in London, the band decided to throw in a few songs from their earlier albums.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s _Stone Cold Crazy_ ,” Roger drawled out saucily, and the really loud part of the show begun.

Freddie looked extremely slender in his black satin. He was engrossed in the performance, prancing the stage, singing his heart out, beating his tambourine wildly against his hips. The raw power he radiated was mesmerizing, and the crowd hummed and moaned in unison. He held them in the palm of his hand, that was obvious.

Then he threw back his head and slashed the air with his mike stand. The song ended.

The lights went out, and when they went on again, Freddie was sitting himself down at the piano. He cast a sly look at the audience and drank some water from a champagne glass.

“Thank you all for being so lovely tonight,” he said, and the crowd cheered. “Here is another little number we’d love to give you from _Sheer Heart Attack_.”

From where I was, I could see Freddie’s piano quite close. I wasn’t sure if he noticed me, and I thought he didn’t, because I was standing in the dark, and he had kilowatts of brightest light streaming down on him from the multicolored lighting rig.

He started strumming out some harmonies, his curly black head bent down to the keyboard. His face was a mix of excitement and razor-sharp focus.

It is only lust, I told myself. It’s nothing but lust. I just want to get my hands on him, there certainly isn’t anything deeper than that. There can’t be. I’ve been there already, I’ve done that, and it’s history. You can't step into the same river twice. And on his side it is… curiosity, I guess. Or maybe he is bored with his retinue and looking for new entertainment. He hardly gives it any thought at all.

Freddie started to sing, leaning forward, lips almost brushing the mike head. I could still feel their softness.

_I live my life for you_

_Think all my thoughts with you – and only you_

I knew this song, it was an obscure one and it featured distorted vocals on the album, so I never gave it a proper listen. Thinking that maybe next time I should, I made a motion towards the exit. I was already going to be late for the flight.

_Anything you ask – I’d do_

_For you_

Suddenly Freddie glanced up. He was looking directly at me. His hair was ruffled, and beads of sweat were visible on his forehead, and cheekbones, and in the double curve of his upper lip. He sounded strangely vehement, exulted even.

_I touch your lips with mine,_

_But in the end I leave it to the Lord,_

_Leave it in the lap of the gods…_

I was the first to look away. I walked briskly down the backstage corridors, out the door, down the stairs and into the car. I had to ask my chauffeur to go really fast. Then I went through the airport customs, crossed the enormously long passage between the terminals, reached the lounge, and was escorted to the car and then to the tarmac.

There I stopped for a moment next to the airplane ramp, and looked up. My mind was completely blank. Large snowflakes were gently falling down on my shoulders and face. It was comforting to feel them melt on my skin, cooling it.

_I want you to_

_Leave it in the lap of the gods_

I stood like this for a bit, and then ran up the ramp and into the plane.


	6. Come play the game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

I was back home a few days later, and the band finished the series of London shows and had three or four days off before going back to touring. I seized the opportunity and took Freddie out to dinner.

“We had a _really_ great show the other day,” Freddie recounted, playing around with his glass. He seemed to have relapsed into the friendship mode again. “I wish you were there to see it. How was New York?”

“Fine. Cold. Went to see Aerosmith at Madison.”

“And?..”

“And they sucked,” I sipped the champagne. “You would do much better.”

“I will,” he said earnestly, and then turned to coy. “Will you get me Madison?”

“I will get you everything, Freddie.”

I glanced at him over the rim of my glass. He was scrutinizing me with those searching dark eyes of his.

“The press was very sweet too,” he said suddenly. “About the show.”

“Oh really? Did they call you a _satiny seducer_ again?”

“Not this time,” he sounded nonchalant. “Ah, and by the way. I forgot to tell you. I gave an interview to the _Express_.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. I just couldn’t.

“Freddie,” I rumbled. “We talked about it. We talked about it three fucking times in one day. You. Run. All the bloody publicity. Through me. What’s so difficult about that?”

“I know, I know,” he waived his hand. “Just forget it dear, let’s get on.”

“No, we won’t get on. You tell me first, why the fuck did you do it?”

“Because I felt like it,” Freddie snapped back. “Fuck off!”

I stood up and threw my napkin on the floor.

“Fuck you, then. If you don’t want to work on my terms, then you can go jump the lake for all I care.”

With these words, off I fucked, just as I was told to, and left Freddie sitting there by himself.

 

I went straight home, lit the fireplace upstairs, looked through some papers, and for the lack of a better option, decided to have an early night. It was around eleven. I was just entering my bedroom, when I heard a loud crash of glass breaking in the next room as a brick came flying through my window.

That was something new. Bewildered, I looked out to the street, and there was Freddie, hair ruffled, eyes blazing with rage.

“Don’t you ever fucking leave me in a restaurant again!” he yelled, hands on his hips.

I kept astonished silence for a while.

“Um,” I said finally. “Come on in?”

 

Five minutes later, standing in the centre of my bedroom, Freddie was still shouting. With all the fuss, I didn’t have a chance to turn the lamps back on, so he was shouting in the firelight.

“How could you do that to me? How could you go away?!”

“Now, come on, Freddie. Let’s talk it over.”

“I don’t want to talk to you ever again!”

“You had it coming, I told you. You shouldn’t have given the interview,” I tried to reason with him for the hundredth time, but he didn’t even listen. He sounded very hurt.

“Did you even think of how I would pay the bill? I had to turn out my pockets and throw in everything, including my bloody cab fare!” he ranted.

“Wait a second. How did you get here then?” I smiled, sensing a lie.

“I walked,” Freddie responded haughtily.

I caught his hands in mine and felt that his long thin fingers were cold as ice. It was November, the restaurant was all the way out in Mayfair three miles away from my house, and Freddie was wearing a thin velvet jacket and satin pants. Sweet Jesus, this boy really did want to come and break my window.

“You’re hurting,” Freddie winced, but didn’t take his hands away.

“I’m sorry,” I relaxed my grip, gently turned his left hand with its glossy black fingernails and, without thinking, pressed my lips to the cold palm. “Better now?”

Freddie didn’t answer, he only watched me in that peculiar way he had, eyes narrowed slightly, head high, his features sharp in the firelight. I looked at him, and suddenly I realized how sick and tired I was of this fast and loose bullshit. I wanted him so bad. We were not children, for god’s sake. This had to stop.

Still holding his hand, I kissed each finger in turn. He didn’t protest, didn’t even move. With a strange mix of anger and desire I wrapped my other arm around his waist – god, wasn’t he slender – and pulled him close. Still no reaction. He was silent, and looked at me intensely. I lowered my gaze and slowly kissed the underside of his wrist. Underneath the delicate skin my lips could feel his pulse racing up. Now tell me about your indifference, I thought. Your own body betrays you as easy as that.

I tugged at Freddie’s jacket and it fell to the floor. My hand buried in his hair, I started kissing his neck lustily, nibbling at it. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh, grasping my shoulders for support.

“Lie down, will you?” I whispered.

Freddie obeyed, and I settled on the bed close to him. I was going to kiss him some more, but suddenly I caught his eye. It was… wary, somehow. It wasn’t how he looked at me five minutes ago. Or at the Odeon backstage. I could sense something was not going the way it was supposed to go.

"Well, now," I sat up. "What's the matter?"

Freddie looked away, lips pressed together.

"You don't want to do it?"

He shot me a glance and said nothing. 

"All right, I’m not going to make you," seeing that it wasn't going anywhere, I made a motion to get off the bed. I was horny as hell, and felt foolish about the entire situation.

Freddie caught my wrist, not letting me go. I waited.

"Please stay," he asked quietly. "Stay. I'm just... I'm nervous. I'm sorry."

"Nervous why?" I leaned over and brought my face close to his. "What's wrong? You can tell me."

My hand started tracing gentle lines up and down his neck.

"I'm not..." Freddie was obviously struggling. "The thing is, I'm not, that is to say... John, I'm not... quite proficient."

"That's fine, Freddie, it's not an issue. I’m sure you’re great," I smiled and made a move to kiss him, but he stopped me.

"I mean, I had girlfriends, and… I also tried this or that... with guys, but I never... I haven't..."

The realization dawned. Oh no, I thought. No, no, no. You must be kidding me. What shall I do with him _now_?.. Satiny seducer, indeed.

"Freddie," I needed to be clear. "Have you ever slept with a man?"

He said nothing.

I hovered over him uncertainly.

“Why the hell did you tell me you were gay then?” I finally managed.

Suddenly he gripped my hand and pressed it to his crotch.

“Because of _this_ , John,” he whispered hotly, desperately in my ear. “Because _this_ is what happens when you kiss me like that. Does it fucking feel straight to you?”

No, _that_ definitely didn’t, and I felt a hot fizzy wave of anticipation.

"Why don't we give it a try then?" stroking the tight satin, I slid my hand up to undo his belt clasp.

"I don't know," Freddie was shivering a little. "It just feels strange... it feels like diving into a deep, deep sea. It feels like... leaving everything behind."

"It's no such thing," I said softly. "It's just a night to share. It's not that big a deal. Trust me. The only thing that matters is whether you want it to be me."

"Yes," Freddie's eyes were almost black now. "Yes. I do. I want you, John."

In the flickering light of the fire he looked very beautiful and incredibly sensual. Leaning close, I touched his cheekbone, then gently pulled at his chin, and next second I was kissing him hungrily. I raved, and Freddie caught on with a passion I wasn’t expecting. It seemed he was indeed resolved. Tearing away from him with an effort, I shook off my robe.

“You,” I asked quietly, and Freddie obediently unbuttoned his shirt and half-rose to get rid of all the remaining clothes. When it was done, I softly pushed him back onto the bed and ran my hand down his chest, then the slightly trembling belly, and then it went lower still and lingered there, rubbing slowly. I watched him. Freddie was breathing in gasps, his head was thrown back, sharp chin tilted up, eyes closed dreamily. His thick black curls were scattered over the pillow revealing short sideburns damp with sweat. I thought that he looked just like he sometimes did on stage, at the piano, playing the culminating chords of his strange unearthly songs. Tonight though, there was no audience to share him with. He was mine.

When I paused and bent over him to fumble in the bedside cabinet, he dived out of his dreamy state and looked up at me blankly. When he saw what I was doing, anxiety resurfaced in his eyes, but this time it was mixed with languid resignation. I lay down again and took him in my arms.

“We’ll need some of that to make you comfortable,” I whispered, shifting him and pressing my mouth to the groove between his shoulder blades. The skin on his back felt cool and tasted a bit salty. I stroked it slowly for a start.

It was already getting too much for me, but I knew we had to take our time. I let my fingers play, and explore, and slip in, and nudge, and caress. Now it was finally my turn to tease, and revenge was the sweetest thing. I felt that Freddie was enjoying it. He was panting, and I realized I had never felt so aroused in my life.

After what seemed an eternity to me, I pressed closer, spooning him. With my hand on Freddie’s hip, I felt him tensing up.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “You’ll hurt yourself. Relax. Just relax. I’ll be gentle.”

The moment I said it, Freddie grew limp in my arms and melted softly into my embrace. The way he did it – the way he instantly trusted me and yielded to me just like that, fully, unconditionally – felt breathtaking. It blew my mind completely.

I tried to hold myself back as much as possible, but I was so heated up and he felt so good that I kept pushing too hard. I think I was hurting him after all, because he was letting out small whimpers from time to time, making me lean closer and kiss his neck soothingly and hotly. Eager to take care of him too, I let my hand slide up his inner thigh again. This time my touch was intense, and soon he was moaning breathily to it, sheer pleasure taking over.

Hearing him like that made me lose all track of time for a while, and then suddenly we were both close. Shivers were ripping through my body, and I could feel Freddie shuddering violently in my arms. For one short moment we balanced on the highest peak of tension, but when Freddie pressed hard into my palm and gave out a soft, high-pitched cry, I let the sharp agonizing ecstasy seize me too, then again, and again.

Finally I let go of him and rolled over to my back beside him, exhausted. I pulled him to me, and we lay in silence for a while, clinging to each other. He was trembling a little.

“That’s done, dear,” I said when I was able to get the command of my voice again. “Did it feel good?”

“I loved it,” Freddie lowered his long black eyelashes. A smile was playing on his lips.

I half-rose, reached for my robe and gently wiped Freddie’s stomach and chest with the soft black fleece. Then I lay down again, resting my hand on his hip.

Neither of us said anything for another couple of minutes. All I could hear was the sound of fire crackling in the fireplace and a distant muffled noise of late night Knightsbridge traffic.

“Can I stay the night?” Freddie suddenly pleaded. “I don’t think I can walk another three miles right now.”

“Of course you can stay,” I hugged him close and kissed away the little beads of sweat on his temple. We got under the covers, Freddie cuddled up to me with a tiny sigh, and very soon he fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep for what seemed like hours, listening to his smooth breathing. 


	7. Somebody to love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is trying to fight it, poor thing... Any bets? None? I thought so.

When I came downstairs the next morning, Freddie was on the sofa in the window seat, lost in thought, chin on his hands, looking outside at the sleepy street.

“Would it be all right if I had some tea?” he asked gingerly.

While I was brewing the Earl Grey for him, I tried to consider my options. I woke up still dazed with excitement, my head soaring, but hot shower sobered me up a bit. I tried to think clearly. The initial plan of having a quick fling seemed to have gone terribly wrong at some point. I could feel that the things somehow got too intense and too emotional for both of us, and now I had to do something about it. I wasn’t ready to go on this way.

I brought Freddie his cup, and we sat in silence. He looked fragile in his loose satin shirt, an oversized bracelet clinking on his slender wrist. He was quietly sipping his tea, eyes cast down. I felt a pang of guilt for hurting him last night. I should have been more careful.

“I’m so sorry about the window,” he said suddenly. “I’ll bring you the check tomorrow.”

“Oh, fuck the check,” I put my hand on his knee. “Are _you_ all right?”

“Yes,” he smiled and I caught a hint of playfulness in his eye. “Shame I’m going away tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” I shrugged. “You’ll probably want to think it over for a while.”

“Think what over?” he looked at me in mild surprise.

“Well, everything? The night. This you and me thing,” I stumbled. “Maybe we should… are you sure... are you sure it is a good idea to take it any further?”

“You didn’t like it with me then, did you?..”

“I _loved_ it, Freddie,” I hurriedly interrupted. “I just don’t think you realize. It’s complicated. I’ve just finished a relationship which was… well, similar at some point. I saw it start and I saw it end. I know what I’m talking about. I don’t want us to get hurt.”

We both went quiet again for a while. Freddie looked out of the window.

“I enjoyed being with you last night,” he said without looking at me. “You know, I hate sleeping alone, or just being alone, even for half a day. It felt good to have you so close. You made me feel cared for. Protected. I long for this feeling all the time. And I never seem to get it, with anyone.”

“Freddie,” I had to stop him. “Trust me, you don’t know what you want just yet. I’m sure it’s the emotions talking right now.”

He looked at me blankly.

“But the emotions _are_ me. I know what I want. I want _this_.”

“My darling,” I said as softly as I could. “I’ll always be your friend. But I think we need to put this thing on hold for now.”

He said nothing, and we finished our tea in silence.

 

The band went back on tour the next day, and so I was spared from seeing Freddie for a month or so. I tried to get on with my workload, which I did with mixed results, and I treated myself to a couple of nights out. It was fun, but strangely enough, I was still in foul mood most of the time.

I kept blaming myself for yielding to the temptation, and I could clearly see how much of a mistake it had been. Although I was very fond of Freddie, I still wanted it to be a more or less no strings attached thing, because in our circumstances it would be much easier for both sides. But the plan wasn’t working out at all – at least not for me.

I could already see that Freddie’s sweet gullibility was getting to me in a way I wasn’t prepared to handle. I couldn’t afford to get involved in this any more than I already was. I had to put a stop to it, and I hoped I was on my way to do it. It was a self-preservation thing, and the first step was to block him out of my life for a while.

Freddie was an affectionate boy, he obviously liked me well enough – for now, and his fancy was probably captured by that brand new sensation of _belonging_ to a man. However, there was no room in his life for monotony. He would probably be upset for a while if I went, but then he’d get over it.

He was a rising superstar, and I could already see that he was craving new pleasures, new experiences, new people every day. Today he was thrilled because I brought something new and unexpected into his life, but tomorrow he would find someone better, prettier, hungrier, and I would be forgotten.

 

The days dragged on tediously. Freddie called me several times at the office, but I was never in and missed the calls. He left me no messages, so I didn’t know what was that he wanted to tell me. I made no attempt to contact him back, and I didn’t even have a pretext to – the road crew reported to me regularly, and the tour went on smoothly, like a well-oiled machine. Coming over to visit was out of the question by default.

At some point I got so fed up with myself and with everything that I decided to go to the continent for a week. Elton was renting a house in Saint-Tropez, we had some good friends of ours staying there, and my visit was long overdue. I had been neglecting him shamefully for a while, and I knew he was sulky with me. Besides I wanted to take a look at some property there too.

I asked Jim to keep an eye on the band for me, and left.

 

A week away proved to be just what I needed. Elton was the easiest person to coax, and his _soirees_ were up to the usual standards – huge, _oh oui_. There were dozens of guests at the house twenty-four seven. We had fun, we went out, and I was never alone for more than a minute. The partying spree felt liberating. Whatever it was that had been nagging at me since the morning when Freddie went away, it was starting to subside. I enjoyed myself for the first time in many days. Freddie was far away, out of sight and tolerably out of mind.

I came back to London in mid-December, and Christmas decorations could already be seen everywhere. I set to work with renewed vigor, and took over a couple of meetings from Jim as soon as I was back. I was pretty sure that I was steadily making it through. The deep dark waters of my strange obsession were covered with the thin ice of make-believe indifference, creating an illusion that it was safe to tread upon.

One of the meetings brought me near Hyde Park, were my car got stuck in traffic, and I decided to walk. I strolled through the park telling myself that life was a good thing after all, especially when you got all your emotional rubbish _almost_ sorted out. It was starting to snow, and the air was crispy.

A group of young boys in suits and tailored winter coats were walking along the lane towards me. They were talking excitedly and looked like upper-class McKinsey interns. I sized them up with interest, and saw one of them narrowing his eyes back at me playfully. Things were looking up.

When he was passing me by, he walked really close, and I got a whiff of a light citron scent.

Just like Freddie’s. The same soap, or perfume, or something else he used daily.

Suddenly I had a violent, piercing flashback to the night we had together. In my mind I could vividly see Freddie again, his slender body glistening with sweat, his back arched, muscles tense, while my fingers…

Stop it, I told myself. The image flashed white hot, and my face and neck were burning. I could feel my hands shaking.

“You’re all right, sir?” the citron soap boy stopped and touched my arm.

“Fine,” I forced an answer. “Thank you, I’m fine. Sorry.”

Of course it was a bloody lie. I was fucked up big time and I very well knew it.

 

About a week later it was time to meet Freddie after all, but thankfully it was a work-related matter, so there was everyone else present and any privacy was out of question. The BBC deal had been confirmed, and we were doing a Christmas Eve broadcast of the band’s one-hour show. It was an amazing piece of promotion, and everyone was elated and very nervous.

Freddie was wearing his new white satin costume with little wings sewn onto the sleeves of his jacket, and he paced the dressing room excitedly with the set list in his hands. It felt good to see him again, but apart from that I was uneasy and tongue-tied. I still had no idea what to do about all the mess I found myself in, and I hoped he would give me a cue on where we were.

“Here we are finally, dear. Back home,” he said half-mockingly, half-sweetly when he saw me. “Did you think about us at all? I bet you didn’t.”

“I’ve been stuck here for the last three days negotiating this bloody broadcast setting, what do you think?” I did my best to sound light-hearted. “Did _you_ think about me?”

“Are you joking? Of course we didn’t, we were kind of busy slaving away our gigs in the middle of nowhere, to make _your_ profits, dear sir,” Roger wedged in. Well, the question did sound impersonal.

Freddie and I crossed looks.

“You never took my calls,” he said, ignoring Roger’s outburst. “I needed to talk to you.”

“Yes, hopefully about a pay raise,” now it was Deacy joining the conversation with a chuckle. “We are due some, you should have seen how they loved us out there!”

“Come on Deacs, they loved Freddie mostly,” Roger rolled his eyes. “What’s there to love about you, a fiery stage dance?”

“My stance and grace,” Deacy gave a little bow. Then he mimed Roger’s octopus-like drumming manner very accurately. “As compared to.”

“Of course everyone loved Freddie,” Brian chimed in mildly. “That’s why he’s the frontman.”

“Thank you dear,” Freddie said sweetly. “At least someone here appreciates real stuff. For most people _lo-ove_ is what happens to someone else entirely.”

With this he threw me a suddenly cold look.

“What do _you_ know about love?” I lashed out without thinking.

Just then the BBC crew members came into the dressing room to give the final instructions on the stage layout, and the conversation ceased. I didn’t know whether Freddie heard me or not, and I wished I had been more discreet.

 

The show was a success, and the broadcast went very well. Everyone was in excellent shape after the tour, and I was pleased to think about how good it would be for the sales. Young talented boys with eager eyes, playing and singing skillfully and looking good – that was the best product a music manager could dream about. Things were going great. Well, the work-related things.

I spent the Christmas day at home, alone. I didn’t want to go see my family that year, and I wasn’t in the mood to invite anyone. The year had been… turbulent. I was sitting in my bedroom, drinking wine and trying to figure out my further actions. I was soon to see the band off to the US & Asian leg of the tour, and then…

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I dragged myself downstairs gloomily. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and it was pretty late. The night was dark and snowy.

When I opened the door, there was Freddie, shivering in an unbuttoned faux fur coat, his long white scarf thrown carelessly over it.

It was a surprise. I knew he was going to spend the entire day with his nearest and dearest.

“I need to talk to you,” he said bluntly. “You must hear me out.”

“What is it, Freddie?” I crossed my arms.

“Listen, you can’t do this to me.”

“Do what?”

“You can’t just discard me. We haven’t spoken for a bloody _month_. You don’t take my calls. You left without seeing me yesterday after the show. We were _friends_ , John. You cared for me so well. How can you take it all away like that?”

“I’m sorry, Freddie. I miss you too,” I had to confess. “I’ve had a hard time these last few weeks without you. But trust me, it’s all for your own…”

“You told me to think it over,” he interrupted. “I’ve thought it over. You must love me.”

My heart was racing. I didn’t feel the cold. Freddie was right there, standing before me, snow in his black hair, a mix of passion and grief in his dark eyes.

“Freddie, I…”

“You don’t understand. I want you to love me. There is no other way. John, please. Let me in, darling,” he was talking fast, almost incoherent with cold and excitement. “I think about you all the time, I can’t go on like this. I’ll go crazy if you say no. You _must_ love me, John”.

Without waiting for a reply, he pulled me to him and started planting kisses all over my lips and cheeks. He was trembling, and his breath came out in whimpering gasps. The familiar citron scent enveloped me and mercilessly set every nerve in my body on fire.

“I need you too, Freddie,” the words escaped me before I could realize it. “I need you, I do!..”

“Then what the _hell_ are you doing?..” he whispered hotly, clinging close, his cold cheek brushing mine.

I gave in. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I took him inside, I warmed him, I lavished him with kisses and caresses, and couldn’t let him out of my arms for half a night. Freddie was already growing more comfortable about it, and he responded playfully and sweetly to my every move and every touch. He kept on saying my name, tenderly, deliriously, and it sent me reeling.

 

The next morning, it felt odd waking up and seeing Freddie curled up by my side. I still had my arm around him, but he turned over in his sleep and was now lying with his back to me, hands under the pillow, thick black locks ruffled. A dull winter morning was glowing softly, not willing to ruin our privacy. Its pale light leaked in through the window blinds, which I forgot to close properly.

I had never seen Freddie so peaceful and so vulnerable. Even with his closest friends he had always been a little on his guard, and now all defenses seemed to be down, at least for the moment. He was far away from any trouble, hidden from the limelight, so safe here – in my home, in my arms. Mine, mine.

I shifted a bit, and Freddie woke up with a sigh. He smiled and turned round, and then he closed his eyes again. It was very quiet in the room. Propping myself on my elbow, I looked at sleepy Freddie as I traced my thumb along his delicately shaped jawline. I was eager for him to talk to me, and at the same time the silence was comforting.

My fingers clumsily tickled the skin on his neck, and Freddie winced a little. He parted his lips to say something, and I was suddenly afraid that he would tell me it was all a ridiculous joke and he had to leave. Before I knew it, I pressed my hand to his mouth.

“Please don’t,” I asked him quietly. “Let’s not talk. Not right now.”

His kissed my palm, then languidly moved the hand away and shifted closer, rolling me over on my back and pulling my arms above my head. Versatility had never really been my thing, but I suddenly realized that the sight of Freddie being in charge turned me on beyond imaginable.

“Your wish is my command,” he breathed softly, brushing his lips on my ear. “Is moaning allowed?”

“It is,” I chuckled and then almost gasped, when he slid his hand down between our bodies. His movements were graceful and very, very authoritative.

“Good for you,” Freddie said and, diving down, let his tongue trace a painfully slow route along my belly. The route went on, and when he finally stopped, the smooth wet gliding gave way to quick, head-spinning fluttering. The boy is an incredibly fast learner, I thought as his warm lips tightened firmly around me, making me cry out weakly and squirm with pleasure so sharp it almost hurt. A prodigy even. He must be a natural.

It was the last coherent thought I found myself capable of for quite a while.


	8. The way you touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Touring can be a rewarding pasttime, if you know how to handle it.

What followed next was a string of three or four odd but very happy months. Freddie was back on tour, but this time we couldn’t really keep apart from each other for long. Our sudden reunion shut down my willpower completely, and I was thinking about him all the time.

Freddie would give me a call every two or three days – usually at night after a show, to pour out his emotions and get some comfort from talking to someone he knew well. While it was night in America, here in London his call would wake me up at some ungodly small hour of the morning, and I would lie there half-awake, listening to his faraway soft chirping as if in a dream. He always said he was awfully sorry to wake me up, but I always replied he should call me again soon.

A couple of times per month I would give in to the frenzy and fly out to see him wherever he was – Cleveland, Milwaukee, Sydney, Tokyo. I would usually arrive just in time to see the show starting, go backstage, and keep up the pretense of chatting to the boys and to the crew about this or that, while watching Freddie out of the corner of my eye. Our mutual indifference in public was part of the fun. He would sit at the mirror, having his hair done, ignoring me and talking to the wardrobe guy, and then suddenly he would throw me a look so fiery that I would shudder. He enjoyed it greatly, these little games. It excited him. It was new. Everything was new.

 

I always booked the same hotels where the band stayed, because it made it so much easier and saved us the trouble of answering any questions. The party arriving from the show was always loud and overexcited, the tempers ran hot, and everyone wanted to talk things over and discuss what went well and what didn’t. Then around two in the morning, when everyone was finally asleep or otherwise occupied, Freddie would slip quietly into my room, and into my bed.

We were head over heels crazy about each other at that time, and were both full of life, joy and vigor. I remember those nights so well – the fresh smell of hotel linen, small bedside lights we never turned off, Freddie’s skin still slightly damp from the shower, his ever-present citron perfume on my hands and my pillows. I remember his enticing heaviness on my body, when we rolled all over the bed just fooling around, and he hovered over me – black hair dangling, eyes sparkling, lips pressed tight in that peculiar mischievous smile that made dimples show on his cheeks and chin – before bending down for a kiss and letting me get hold of him again.

As we moved along the tour from one stolen night to another, I noticed that Freddie proved to be a quick learner indeed. He was naturally very lithe and very conscious of his body, and he was also very –  _moldable_ , I’d say. He opened up hungrily to everything new and undiscovered, if it brought him pleasure, and he was rapidly becoming a sophisticated but affectionate lover. I couldn’t get enough of him.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t all about sex. What I came to need most, as the time went by, was that feeling of closeness – the heat, the contact, the intimacy we shared. Freddie often had trouble falling asleep after a show, still too much shaken by the adrenaline kicking in, and most hotel rooms felt too cold for him to sleep comfortably – the winter we had that year in the States was unusually frosty. So whenever I came to visit, after the more passionate part of the night was over I snuggled him between my body and the thick duvet, and he nestled there in the warm nook of my embrace. Savoring long-sought coziness and pleasant exhaustion, Freddie would chat to me softly about trifles, lulling himself to sleep. I would answer him drowsily from time to time, or simply close my eyes and stroke his neck, or face, or hair, my fingertips dozing off on his skin. We spent hours in those sleepy caresses, and after I went home, Freddie’s voice with a peculiar sweet cadence to it and his mild laughter would ring in my ears for days.

If the show happened to be in a big city, we would sometimes go out together to a club or a party, and stay there until five or six in the morning. Then he was off to another city and another venue, and I was back to the airport to catch a flight home. Looking back, I have no idea where I got the energy to survive that crazy rhythm and to keep up with my work and other engagements. I had close to no sleep and was constantly unfocused, muzzy from jet lag, and delirious with too much emotion.

 

Everyone on tour was always busy with their own affairs and issues and never really looked too closely into each other’s lives, but there was some unwanted curiosity at times, and so Freddie and I chose to keep our personal arrangements as much to ourselves as possible. It was mostly a game of course, but definitely one of the best games in the world – playing secret lovers unwilling to be exposed. As I said, the secrecy was great fun, and it turned us on like hell – after a day of feigned coldness, the night made us see fireworks.

I remember once, early on the tour, when the band was playing one or two gigs in Pennsylvania, there was a booking issue and we all had to stay in a two-star inn in the middle of nowhere. My ghastly _superior suite_ was in the farther end of the dimly lit corridor, and when everything got quiet, Freddie sneaked in, alert and walking softly as a shadow. Next moment he was in my arms – and very soon the tiredness, the wild howling of a snowstorm outside, the mildew smell of the dingy room and the reality in general disappeared from our world for a while.

We enjoyed taking it slow that night – Freddie was drained after a particularly challenging show and I was crushed by a long bumpy flight – but eventually we both warmed up, fondling each other into playfulness, and after a while sweet tension began building up, getting more acute with every minute.

We were very much in the heat of it already, and I have to say, rather audibly so, when we suddenly heard loud voices and laughter in the corridor. The sounds were approaching. We could tell it was Roger and his roadie, who were great pals, and they were bringing along a couple of giggling and squealing girls. We heard the door opening in the next room, and the party barged inside.

I hurriedly clasped my hand over Freddie’s mouth and sharply pulled his head back until it was pressed against my shoulder, his hair tickling my skin. We froze for a moment in a tight embrace and listened anxiously, feeling like partners in crime who were seconds away from being caught red-handed. It was extremely frustrating… and rather exciting.

Plainly, the situation was a disaster. The bloody shack of a hotel must have been built of eggshell. Divided by a thin wall, we could hear _every word_ of the conversation going on in the next room – which meant they would hear _us_ as well if we made another sound or moved about too much.

I was clutching Freddie to me while we kept on listening. His shoulder blades grazed my chest, and I was painfully conscious of his warm, alluring closeness. Our options were to stop and try to wait out, or… or what? And how long would the wait have to be?.. Roger and the others were drunk, obnoxious and noisy, and they were engaged in chatting and flirting heavily. It didn’t sound as if they would go away or go to sleep anytime soon.

Freddie’s cheek was pressed to my chin, and up close I could see his eyelashes fluttering in a heavy mist of interrupted delight. I wanted him madly, and he must have felt the same way, but I needed to be sure – or _to persuade_. Bowing my head, I gently breathed out some warm air on the side of his neck and ran the tip of my tongue up and down the tender skin, as if seeking his permission to go on again. With a tiniest of sighs, Freddie clung closer, shivering all over, surrendering himself to me. His hands found my hips, and that was a _yes, my dear, oh yes._

I pushed him forward softly with my body, and Freddie carefully and gracefully lowered himself on the bed, digging his slender fingers into the sheets. I followed, my heartbeat starting to thump in my ears as I pressed him down hard. Slowly and cautiously, we began to move again, unable to break apart this time, merging deeper into each other. My palm remained tight over his lips when I finally cast all cautiousness aside, insistent and needy in my sweetest conquest. Freddie was squirming under me in silent exultation, and I had to bite on his shoulder to muffle my own moans.

The pleasure that immersed us was exquisite. The feeling of doing something so forbidden, and yet so overwhelmingly passionate, was a kind of thrill I had never experienced before. It left me almost light-headed when it passed – and yet we stood the test, and not a single sound we made was loud enough to give away our presence or any of our secrets to the unexpected neighbors.

As we lay prostrated across the bed holding on to each other and trying to regain our breath we could hear that the things in the other room were spicing up. One of the girls and the roadie went away – we didn’t catch the exact moment, lost in our mutual absorption – and now Roger and the other girl were cooing and smooching loudly. After a while, very little cooing could be heard anymore – and very much smooching and sighing.

I took a deep breath to steady my voice, picked up the phone and solemnly dialed Roger’s room number, which was obviously one digit apart from mine. My other hand was lazily caressing Freddie’s thigh.

After four or five rings, a slightly panting and rather angry Roger dutifully picked up.

“Oi, it’s me,” I did my best to sound very sleepy and extremely annoyed. “Shut down the shag factory, will you? I’m trying to sleep here. It’s bloody four in the morning.”

With that, I slammed the phone back on the receiver. The room next door sank into stony, offended silence.

Freddie hid his head under the pillow and laughed so hard he almost fell off the bed.

 

Careful though we were, one day our secret leaked out, at least partially. It happened when the band was staying in what I think was Detroit for a couple of days to get some much-needed rest between the shows. The first day off was invariably dedicated to sleeping in, hanging around doing nothing, and otherwise relaxing after the pretty rough schedule they had been maintaining for two or three weeks previously. In the late afternoon of the second day the boys – that is to say, Brian as the ultimate explorer, and everyone else dragging along – decided to go sightseeing, whatever the sights were in Detroit, if any. It was February and freezing cold outside, so the venture was probably bound to end up in the nearest pub, but it was entertainment nevertheless.

Freddie, however, declined the invitation to join. He had other things in mind. I was rushing over from the airport, and for some reason or other he was especially eager to see me that day. He actually came down to meet me in the hotel lobby.

“Here you are, finally,” he screamed, looking trim, fresh and madly attractive in tight jeans and a blue boatneck t-shirt baring his collarbones. “I thought you got snowed under! Why so  _lo-ong_?”

“It’s a Wednesday, Freddie. People in Detroit have jobs. It’s rush hour out there,” I laughed out. His impatience warmed my heart.

The hotel was a bit shabby again, but who cares. I quickly checked in and got my key.

“Marvelous, now my place or yours?” Freddie snorted when we got to the elevator. We started kissing the moment the doors closed.

It happened so that  _his place_  was three doors closer, and there we went – or crashed, more likely – still kissing. He tugged at my coat, and I threw it off and caught his face in both hands, nuzzling his lips and chin and messing up his hair.

“I missed you, I missed you,” I whispered between the kisses.

“Show me,” he breathed out, his eyelids heavy.

As we moved deeper into the room, Freddie stumbled upon the bed and we fell onto it. My hands were already pulling at the soft washed-out cotton of his t-shirt.

Suddenly we heard a tiny cough.

We jumped apart and there was Deacy standing in the doorway that led to the other room of the suite. He was wearing a scarf and a winter leather jacket.

“I’m sorry,” he said, mildly as ever. “I was just leaving. Oh, hello John.”

Given the circumstances, it would have been extremely ridiculous to say  _Yes, hello John_  back, so I just nodded.

“Freddie, you said I could borrow your camera when we go out with the boys,” he explained, his face inscrutable.

“Oh. Right. Did you find it, dear?” Freddie ran his hand through his ruffled black curls.

“Mm, yes, I have,” Deacy held the camera up in his hand. “I think I’ll go now. Nice seeing you.”

When he was gone, I sat up on the bed and breathed out loudly, rubbing my hand across my forehead.

“Shit,” I said. “Oh, shit.”

"What’s that, darling?” Freddie seemed to be a little perplexed by my reaction.

“Well, that was… really embarrassing just now.”

“Oh come on, it's just Deacy," he said lightly. "We don’t have to be that secretive all the time for real. At least not with him. He knows about you and me anyway."

"He  _knows_?" I was appalled.

"Of course he does, we’re friends, I tell him things," Freddie was unperturbed. "Why are you so mad all of a sudden?"

"It's just not right, Freddie, we should have talked it over first. I'm their manager, for god's sake."

"So what? You’re  _my_  manager too. I don’t see how it stopped you from sticking your tongue in my mouth two weeks after we signed the contract.”

“Stop it, Freddie. You know what we have is different,” I snapped. “And by the way, if memory serves me right, it wasn’t me who came up with the tongue-sticking in the first place.”

“Different how, John?” Freddie was watching me fixedly, ignoring the last remark. “What is it we have?”

It was the first time he asked me this, and I wasn’t prepared to answer. Everything had been happening so much on the run. I was so engrossed in living the _here and now_ that I simply didn’t bother labelling things.

“What we have is none of the band’s business,” I said soothingly, after a pause.

It wasn’t quite what he wanted to hear, I knew it.

“They’d be fine with it," he said absent-mindedly. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, a little hunched, looking down at his hands. 

"All right, forget it," I couldn’t bear it when he was like this, and anyway I was too jet-lagged and too infatuated to argue. "We can write it out on my business cards if it makes you feel better. Mr. John Reid, London 8W, honorable signee shagger since 1970."

"You can always blame the signees," Freddie still sounded a little hurt, but I could see the familiar smile – half-coy, half-affectionate – starting to play on his lips again. “Right, where were we?.."

"No, seriously, Freddie," I made my last attempt to reason with him. "I thought we were on the same page about the _don’t kiss and tell_ thing. Do you really think I would enjoy having this kind of reputation in the industry?"

“Actually I’m quite certain you would,” he looked me up and down, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re such a nasty two-faced rascal.”

“I hate you so much sometimes, you know,” I wrapped my arms around him again.

"Liar," he whispered in my ear.

I pushed him down, caught his wrists and, twisting them lightly, pinned him to the bed. He tried to squirm out of my hold, but without much ardor.

"Has anyone ever called the police on you?" he hissed. “Bully.”

I laughed out.

"Actually they have. A pub fight in Australia, three years ago,” I bent down and gave him a kiss. “Out-of-court settlement, hell of a penalty to pay. But the bastard had it coming.”

"So that makes you a liar, a sadist,  _and_  a law breaker," Freddie purred, eyeing me hungrily. "God, it's getting nice. Come here."

And so I did.

 

The tour was nearing its final shows, and I was already dreaming about some quiet time in London with Freddie – well, probably not too quiet, but I did need a couple of weeks without this constant hopping on and off the plane like a slightly mad White Rabbit.

Our last _romantic getaway_ was in Japan, where we spent a couple of days between the shows like proper tourists – admiring the azaleas and buying half of the Kyoto’s largest antiques shop. We particularly liked one delicate little bowl with a string of tiny dark blue swallows splashed across it, and we both grabbed it from the shelf at exactly the same moment. After some gentle tugging, Freddie let go and gracefully allowed me to have it. He was quite offended when I actually went and bought it without offering it back to him, and I knew he would surely take it out on me later when we get back to the hotel… which of course made it a win-win.

After the last show was done, the band and the crew were finally heading back to London. I came to the airport to arrange a small homecoming photoshoot with the press. From where I was, I could see the runway, and when I caught a glimpse of the plane touching down, I felt a rush of overwhelming happiness. The long hot summer was upon us, and I had not a care in the world.


	9. Drowse

In May and June, the band had a three or four weeks’ rest after the tour. They spent time with their families, and we also went out from time to time – usually it was just Freddie, myself, and some new friends of his, but sometimes the others joined us. Freddie was still elated with the success of the LP and the tour, and he enjoyed his growing popularity like a child happy with a new shiny toy. He remained a sincere, gentle boy easy to fluster, but when he entered a party now, he was the lawful king before whom everyone bowed – and he acted the part very sweetly, as if he was born for it. He was becoming majestic.

He loved his new friends, which he made by dozens. They made him laugh, they took him to new and exciting places, and I went along sometimes, and at other times I just let him go alone and enjoy himself for a while. We never lived together as such – neither of us raised the subject, and there were too many complications involved – but he stayed at my place for days at a time, feeling quite at home, constantly leaving empty teacups on my desk and shamelessly appropriating selected t-shirts from my wardrobe. Every time he went out without me, I knew he would come back to me later – and we would gossip about everyone and everything he had seen or met, and then he would fall asleep in my arms, hiding his face in the curve of my neck and breathing evenly.

By mid-June, Freddie was already bored with partying, and he was itching to start making music again. The after-tour break was ending, and it was high time everyone started throwing together the drafts of the new LP. The band usually did it separately – everyone went home and concentrated for a fortnight on their own ideas, and then they brought it all together, decided which songs were worth working on further, and moved on to the studio.

Freddie actually took to using my sitting room as a place where he could create without being disturbed, because his own apartment was now constantly swarming with people who came to see him or get something from him. I had a piano – I didn’t play it myself, but it seemed only reasonable to have it since I was always involved in music production one way or another. So I gave Freddie my keys, and now he could come over even while I was away – which was for the most part of the day – and make use of my home as a hiding place from distractions. The summer was hot, and in return for my hospitality I got the precious bonus of returning home sometimes to a slightly disheveled and very focused Freddie, who was humming a tune and counting the beats with his hand while rambling barefoot around my sitting room wearing nothing but small satin shorts. It was a perfect bargain.

 

Meanwhile, the band’s business affairs were looking better than fine. The boys were getting incredibly popular in the country and abroad; they were also getting richer, although I was pretty sure they would blow it all on the next LP and the touring gear and equipment. I was hoping to talk them into being a bit more rational, although I knew them well enough to realize that I had little chance of success. But that was for later, and my immediate agenda included three more urgent things: arranging a Sussex countryside studio for the recording, negotiating a few domestic concerts, with a distant prospect of probably having one in Hyde Park if we were very lucky, and thirdly – signing the band with a bigger and better US label following up on the latest tour success.

That last thing I did arrange in early July, and we were to meet with the label executives and discuss the terms, but on the day of the meeting I realized that I had a very unfortunate schedule clash. I had to be at a court session, a minor thing, but due to paperwork restrictions it required my physical presence on behalf of the band. We decided that Freddie would take Jim with him to the meeting for business support.

It went well, and Jim called on me in the office later in the day to report that the label was very much interested in the deal, and that the next day they were ready to start some preliminary work and talk over the upcoming LP details. That was very good news, and in the evening I hurried home with a bottle of _Roederer Crystal_ to celebrate.

Freddie was stretched on his favorite narrow sofa in the window seat, looking very dull. He smiled when he saw me, and tilted his face up for a kiss. Then I went to open the bottle in the kitchen and brought him his glass. He made room for me, and I climbed onto the sofa opposite him, stroking his leg. He wasn’t a particularly tall man – neither of us were – but there _was_ quite a lot of leg to stroke all right.

“So tell me, how were the Americans?” I asked. “Were they nice to you?”

Freddie was looking out of the window, lost in thought. He was often like this now. The songwriting business made him moody and absent-minded.

“Freddie?..”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” he replied. “Yes, they were very nice. _Elektra_ wants to sign us.”

“Yes, Jim told me, hence the _Crystal_. Congratulations, my dear,” I bent down and kissed his knee, enveloping my fingers around his shin. “Will you see them again tomorrow?”

“Actually…” he looked away and pursed his lips as he always did when concerned or concentrated. “Actually I’m seeing them again tonight. Is that all right with you?”

He looked at me entreatingly.

“Sure, Freddie, you don’t have to ask,” I was surprised. “Can I come with?”

“John, I’m really sorry, they told me it’s more of a private… party thing. I’d love to bring you, but what if they…”

“It’s all right.”

Sensing my slight discomfort, he half-rose, moved closer to me and put his arms around my neck, pressing his forehead to mine.

“I’m still coming back here afterwards,” he whispered. “I’ll be missing you every minute.”

 

I watched him leave, looking very glam in his white pants and saffron yellow jacked striped with black. A silver Cadillac stopped by my porch, and Freddie got in.

I went out soon after him, and had an excellent impromptu dinner with the _Circus_ editor in chief who was an old pal. We hadn’t seen each other for a year or so, he was full of gossip and stories, and we laughed like crazy and had probably a bit too much to drink. I came home well after midnight feeling dizzy, carrying my tie in my hand.

Freddie wasn’t there. I felt a little disappointed, but then again – if it was a party, then it was bound to last longer than a dinner. I hoped he was enjoying himself. I thought about waiting up, but I was really very tipsy, so I took a shower, and I as soon as I got to bed I drifted off to a heavy and dreamless slumber.

It was almost dawn when the bed clinked gently, and I felt Freddie’s warm body settle in beside me. He put his arm around my waist.

“Was the party good?..” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

He said nothing and just held me close. His touch was soothing, and I fell back to sleep.

 

The next few days were fussy with the _Elektra_ negotiations and a thousand things to take care of. I was busy all the time, and Freddie and I had little chance to see each other or talk. We wanted to make up for it on an evening a couple of days before the band was to set off to Sussex for the recording, but I was held up at a meeting, and when I got home, annoyed and exhausted, I found Freddie already asleep, so I collapsed into bed as well.

In the middle of the night I woke up with a vague uneasy feeling which you get when you can’t remember the dream you’ve just had but you know it was an unpleasant one. I lay there for a minute or two rubbing my eyes and face, and then I realized Freddie wasn’t next to me in bed.

Freddie was a light sleeper, especially when he was having a creative spell. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night with an idea of a song playing in his head, and he wouldn’t go back to sleep until he wrote it down or tried it out on the piano. Knowing this, I was sure he must have slipped downstairs – he always moved around very quietly at nights, patting softly as a cat. 

I got up and splashed some cold water on my face, but the feeling of nagging restlessness didn’t go away, and I decided to go downstairs and look for Freddie. I grew very needy of him by that time without even noticing it. Normally it didn’t show that much, because I was rather reserved and strong emotions were not part of my usual demeanor, but the bad dream left me oddly vulnerable and I wanted him close.

Just as I thought, he was in the sitting room, strumming gently on the piano. I quietly stood in the doorway and listened. Freddie’s long fingers were slowly going through the same set of notes over and over again. It was a very short, scale-like piece of a tune – maybe a ballad intro – it went up, then up again, and then down gently. It sounded… sad, but not really sad, more like the anticipation of something you can’t clearly see just yet, but which inevitably draws you closer and closer.

Suddenly he noticed me, stopped playing and turned around.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said softly and came up to the piano. “It feels a bit lonely without you upstairs.”

“I’ll be right back, I just had to…try something out.”

“That thing you just played was really nice. Would you play it for me again?”

“Oh, that’s nothing… a few notes,” he looked down at the keys. “I’d rather play you something else.”

His hands moving deftly over the keyboard, he pounded out an old-fashioned little waltz.

“Do you like it?” he said somewhat saucily, and when said I did, he grinned. “If you want, I can write this one for you!”

“That would be lovely, Freddie, just make sure it’s not another one of those you usually write about your managers,” I laughed out, and he joined in. “My conscience _doesn’t_ plague me at night if you’re wondering.”

I came closer and stood behind him, putting my hands on his shoulders.

“You’re tense,” I rubbed them a little and he leaned against me with a sigh, pressing the back of his head to my chest. “Is the music coming out all right?”

“Yes… it does, but that’s _so_ exhausting. We’ll get there though... You know, I met with the others today, they showed me a little of what they have.”

“And?..”

“You won’t believe it, but Brian actually brought a song which goes _tie your mother down and give me every inch of your love_. I mean, really.”

“Lord almighty,” I put my hand over my eyes laughing. “Are there any _grease guns_ this time?”

“No, thankfully we’re spared!”

Freddie closed his eyes. He was smiling tiredly. My fingers could feel the short curly hair on the nape of his neck as I continued stroking his skin.

“God, I wish it was all over. I can’t fucking _breathe_ here… This songwriting thing is suffocating. I wish we were in Sussex already.”

“I see, you wish you could get away from me sooner,” I smiled and gently gripped his black locks pulling his head back a little.

He opened his eyes and looked up at me.

“I’m joking, Freddie, it’s all right. I know you are all about music.”

“No,” Freddie was watching me fixedly with an odd glow in his eyes. “No, that’s not true. Don’t you know me at all? I’m all about _love_. Music is secondary. Love is the only thing that matters, don’t you think so?”

My hand stopped moving. I never knew how to reply to gooey stuff like that. This kind of situations have never been my scene. I said nothing.

“John,” Freddie suddenly asked, his eyes full of fire. “Do you love me? You’ve never told me that. Do you?..”

I have no idea why I hesitated. I lived and breathed him by that time, for god’s sake. But he was right – I always said I missed him, I needed him, I wanted him, and that was it.

The seconds were ticking away, and I knew the moment was lost.

“Don’t be a silly tart,” I finally said and bent down to him gently. He cast down his eyelashes a little testily and allowed himself to be kissed.

 

In a couple of days the band left for Sussex, and I was back at the office to handle a heap of things which ranged from unpleasant to exasperating. The Hyde Park concert deal wasn’t going anywhere, the _Elektra_ legal team was vicious about the draft paperwork, and Elton was crashing his way along the US tour in his very own charming manner: causing some kind of scandal in every city. There was a new issue every day that claimed my attention, and a fortnight later I was so exhausted and out of temper that I didn’t even notice that Freddie hadn’t called me since he went away.

I thought nothing of it at first: I knew Freddie, and I knew that when he got to a studio he was lost to the world. The band usually had ten or twelve hours’ daily recording sessions, and it was full immersion: no food, no sleep, only music – and bickering, of course. I remembered coming to see them during last summer's session, and by the evening they always looked completely washed out. Chatting to friends or lovers on the phone definitely didn’t seem like one of their top priorities in that state.

Finally Freddie called me – it was late night sometime in July, and I couldn’t sleep either because of the heat. He sounded sweet as usual, but somehow different – a little aloof. He said he missed me too, complained about the others, asked me whether I would come along, and then chirped a soft but rather nonchalant _oooh_ , when I said I couldn’t make it just yet. It had been a long and busy day, and I wanted to tell him about it, and also about many other things, but I didn’t know where to start – as it often happens when you talk to someone who’s close to you but who hasn’t been in touch for a little while. Anyway, when I started saying something, I suddenly got a feeling that he wasn’t listening.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” he said when he realized I stopped talking. “I’m so dreadfully tired. You know how it goes for me in the studio. Please don’t be mad.”

“Of course I’m not mad, Freddie,” for some reason or other, I felt very tired too. “I really miss you though. I’ll try to come over soon, I promise.”

“Oh, you don’t have to if it’s not convenient,” Freddie was a little too quick for a man dropping with fatigue. “It’s all right, I’ll see you when I’m back.”

Oh. Perfect, just _perfect._

“Is there anything wrong, dear?” he cooed after a pause.

“Freddie,” I was trying hard to keep edginess out of my voice. “You know, when my man tells me that I can get lost for two more fucking months, that’s not exactly what I would call _right_.”

Silence.

“Am I _your man_ then?” Freddie asked with an ironic drawl.

“Right, I see where this is going,” I sighed. “Is that about that night when you asked me… that thing you asked, and I said…”

More silence.

“No,” Freddie’s tone was listless and very faraway. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have. It doesn’t matter now. It really doesn’t.”

“But look, I _want_ it to matter, Freddie, because I thought about it and I…”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted softly. “John, my darling, I’m just so tired right now. I can’t think straight. Let’s call it a night. Come over whenever you can, will you?”

“Good night, Freddie,” I said, and pressed the cold plastic of the receiver to my burning cheek when I heard the disconnection tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what would you answer Freddie if he asked you that question?;) Is it wiser to say nothing?<3


	10. Dragon on my back

Despite its odd, unfamiliar brevity and coldness, Freddie’s call snatched me out of the numb monotony of my London affairs and made me realize how much I actually missed him. I decided to go to Sussex as soon as I had a free day. I wanted to see Freddie and I wanted to get to the bottom of what was happening, because something definitely was.

A couple of days later, I put everything that could wait on hold, collected a pack of stuff we needed to have signed, approved, or sneered at by the boys, and got into the car to drive to Sussex. In London my cars were chauffeured most of the time, but I enjoyed driving in the countryside – it helped me think. My best ideas always came to me when I was driving.

This time though it wasn’t to be the case. It was a late Friday afternoon and blazing hot outside, I got stuck in traffic at the city exit, and by the time I got to the farm, I had a splitting headache and was in no mood for thinking out – or acting out – any stratagems. I just wanted to take a look at things, have a word with Freddie, then probably go back to London before midnight, lock myself in a dark room and preferably die.

When I was turning towards the house, I saw from a distance a silver car pulling out. It looked familiar. As it drove by, quickly speeding up along the empty country lane, I tried to get a glimpse of the driver in the failing early evening light, but I couldn’t.

I parked the car and walked across the lawn, lost in thought. The headache made it difficult to concentrate.

Roger was sitting at the porch smoking. He looked bored.

“Hyah,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” I waved towards the driveway. “Hey, that car out there… Was it the  _Elektra_ guy, by chance?”

“Yeah, him,” Roger puffed on his cigarette. “Why?”

“No reason,” I shrugged. “What did he want?”

“I’ve no idea, he’s Fred’s pal,” Roger sneered. “Strange bloke. American. Fred came in and pinched my cig lighter for him last night at three in the bloody morning, I mean – what a wanker, don’t they have their own stuff in America?”

He paused for a moment, thinking something over.

“Look, you’re a smoker, right? Do you happen to have a spare one on you? I’m sick of the bloody matches.”

“In the glovie,” I gave him my car keys, threw one more glance at the road and went into the house.

The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together.

 

Freddie was recording when I came in. He waved at me from behind the glass, pointed at the clock and held up his hand, fingers spread – “five minutes” – and then he went back to listening intently to the backing tracks in his headphones, a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows.

I sat down and chatted to Brian and Deacy for half an hour, then Roger came back and we looked through the papers and photos I brought. Brian offered me his headache pills and we went to his room to get them, and then he suggested we step outside for a while. It was getting late. I lit a cigarette, and we watched how the dark sky was getting even darker in the north.

“Looks like a big storm is coming,” Brian was twirling a long grass-blade in his fingers. “We’d better get you some dinner before it starts raining. It’s not safe to drive in a storm.”

“You’re right… I’ll need to get going soon.”

“How’s the head?”

“Better, thanks a lot.”

I stood on the bottom step of the porch with my back to the door, and suddenly there was a shift in the air, and Freddie’s arms slid around me. I could feel his sharp chin on my shoulder, and his hair tickled my ear. Freddie loved being tactile with his friends in public – and anyway, there were only three of us outside, and despite his other talents Brian wasn’t the world’s greatest reader of body language, even when it was spoken so clearly.

“Here you are,” I said without turning around. Freddie’s scent and heat enveloped me, and I was seized with an overwhelming surge of bitterness and longing.

“I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting,” he sounded tired. “I know I’m such a hopelessly tardy tart. You must forgive me. What have you two been up to out here? Has Brian been nice to you?”

The curly-haired guitarist looked at him in bemusement.

“I was just telling John he should have dinner with us before the storm comes,” he related obediently. “You see it over there? Going to be one nightmare of a drive back.”

Freddie looked.

“No way. There will be no driving back tonight in this weather,” he said in a high-pitched tone that allowed no argument. “He stays. I want him to stay. We have a beautiful guestroom after all.”

“Really, Freddie?” I exploded, unable to hold back my soreness. “Do people like it here, then? When they come and stay over, eh? What gets the best reviews, the amenities or the service?..”

“You sound so unbelievably cross, darling. It must be the heat,” he purred and prodded me gently towards the door. “Let’s get you some food, come on. Brian, are you coming?”

 

After dinner the five of us went back outside, as the farm house was stuffy as hell after the afternoon heat, and we sat on the porch drinking our beers and watching the thunderstorm approaching. Bolts of lightning struck menacingly in a distance, and we could already hear the gentle rumbling of thunder. The night air was damp and heavy with warm scents of hay fields.

We were talking about nothing in particular – the weather, the two upcoming gigs in Scotland and Wales, the LP coming together. Everyone was tired and sleepy, and the conversation was dragging.

I watched Freddie. At dinner, he had been very polite and accommodating, a perfect host, a perfect – lover? He was chatting to me a lot, served me the fried chicken, constantly made a fuss over me, and everything looked so  _normal_  that I could hardly believe it wasn’t. He was acting as if we were still very much together – but now, half an hour later, he was sitting on the ground leaning against my knee and looking edgy and clammed up all of a sudden. He was sipping his beer, his unshaven face was dark and expressionless, and gusts of pre-storm wind were ruffling his hair now and then. I was fighting back the desire to discreetly run my fingers through its soft black waves.

"You know, I still can't make out the lyrics for the song I promised you," Freddie suddenly said.

"What song is that?" Deacy asked.

"I promised John to write a song for him, he's such a friend of ours," Freddie explained dismissively. "I set my mind on the waltz, but I'm struggling. I’ve got about half of it, and that’s where I got stuck."

"What are you missing?" I was amused. I thought he forgot about the song.

"I don't know really. I have a feeling it needs some drama in it. _You_ need some drama."

"I can cut your salaries if you wish," I shrugged. “Will that be dramatic enough?”

"That's why we all hate your songs so much, Fred," Roger yelled to the sound of everyone laughing.

"Come on Freddie, can’t you just write he's a tall, dark and handsome stranger sweeping everyone off their feet, and be done with it?" Brian offered. "Don't overcomplicate things. I personally have a mortgage."

Everyone looked at him.

"What?" Brian looked unperturbed. "It's a song. You  _can_ make him tall in a song!"

"And handsome, come to that," Roger sipped his beer and looked me up and down. "You know what, you should probably make him blond."

"I hate you all," I announced, finishing my bottle. "I'm going to bed."

"Don't forget to say he’s the one with the money," that was Deacy. They laughed again.

“A millionaire… millionaire waltz, I like it,” Freddie was interested. He put down his bottle and clapped his hands together.

"Do, do write about a blond-haired millionaire. We'll dedicate it to Mr Branson, and _maybe_ that will be the end of the Hyde Park deal bullshit," I laughed too. "Good night, boys."

 

The guest room was hot and stuffy just like the rest of the house, and although I was exhausted, I couldn’t sleep. I ran out of distractions, lying there all alone and looking at the ceiling, and so I was forced to think about – well, there was no sense in sugarcoating it – to think about what I perfectly knew was happening. Freddie’s aloofness, his mood swings, unexpected overnight guests hurrying to take leave before I arrive – it all summed up perfectly to only one thing, of course. I had known it would be like that from the very beginning, from that Christmas day Freddie came to my house demanding to be loved. It was surprising that it actually took him that long to start playing the field. Probably I should have taken it as a compliment to my abilities.

I wondered whether it was something serious they were having, or just a fling. I could probably live with a fling… although it was surely just the matter of time until he found another one, then another, and in the end it would all fall apart anyway. There was nothing I could do. A nagging feeling of sheer desolation was starting to creep over me, and I tried hard to block it out.

I also wondered whether Freddie would come to spend the night with me or not. He did say he wanted me to stay, but maybe entertaining too many visitors – I sneered – did take its toll. I thought I heard him behind my door for a moment, but it was just the rain starting to pat the rooftop gently. The thunderstorm was finally there.

Several minutes later it was already pouring heavily. In the sound of rain lashing against my window I didn’t hear Freddie entering the room. He finally came, and stood there in the shadows, looking at me intensely as he so often did. His uncombed black hair brushed his shoulders, which looked wide in contrast to his tiny waist, and his slender body shone white against the darkness of the room.

I said nothing and just lay there looking back at him through half-closed eyes. A few moments passed in silence, and then in one lithe movement Freddie slipped into the bed next to me, the satin of his shorts rubbing pleasantly cool against my bare thigh. Next second I rolled over him, my hands tugging at his waistband. He wriggled his hips, helping me to undress him. Then he reached out to bring me close to him again, but that wasn’t what I had in mind.

I ran my hands firmly up and down his thighs and settled myself between them. What I had in mind was fast, and rough, and it would leave him no chance to pause for breath. Without any foreplay, I bent my head down and squeezed my lips tight around him in the first, tentative glide. It was bordering on a bite. I wanted him to _feel_ every second of what I was going to do.

“John, wait… hold on, what… auughh _god_ ,” Freddie’s urgent whisper trailed off into a long low moan when I let my hand take over, tightening the hold, making him twitch. I was deliberately hurting a little… just enough to make it scorchingly, painfully good. He was aroused almost immediately, and then I swooped down on him again, like a predator on his prey.

As my fingers were gliding and caressing, and my mouth was tearing hotly, almost aggressively at his exposed skin, I _loathed_ the idea of sharing him with someone else. How could that even be? It didn’t seem possible at all. Freddie was right there, he wanted me, he was whimpering for me to go slower, to stop – but when I did release him for a split second, he instantly begged me to go on. He was arching his back to get more of me, he was rubbing needily against my lips and hands, and by the end – which didn’t take long to come – he was so greedy and so insistent that I had to hold him back while he was riding the wild, delirious waves of pleasure.

It was always so very enticing to have him go crazy like that under my touch, but this time my plan was two-fold. When Freddie finally stilled, I didn’t let him savor the sated stupor for too long. I wasn’t done with him yet, and now I intended to get what _I_ wanted – and to have it the way he deserved it, in that very guest room. He was still panting slightly when I dug my fingers into his thick coarse hair, pulling at it, forcing him to slide off the bed and kneel awkwardly on the floor.

“Let me go, are you crazy?” Freddie hissed, trying wildly to squirm out of my grip.

Without answering, I clenched my teeth and pulled harder, bowing his head where I wanted it, pressing him closer. Anger, frustration and lust were boiling hot in my veins. I was in control yet again, and I made sure Freddie knew this one would be just as intense. He saw it written across my face when he looked up at me for one long moment, and then he closed his eyes, and I felt his lips slowly giving way.

He kept struggling faintly throughout the whole thing, but it was no good – my grasp remained tight, and I was relentless. I had no mercy on him, I didn’t care if he fucking choked, and the best, the absolutely best part was that I knew for sure he _loved_ it that way. His deep moans, half-desperate, half-exulted, vibrated through my flesh, and it felt so good I almost blacked out. When I knew I couldn’t last any longer, I pulled back a bit and strained to keep my eyes open as the exploding pleasure overtook me. Watching him take it made me want to shout out to the world that he belonged to _me_ , and to no one else, ever.

“Good boy,” I rumbled breathlessly when I was done, and pushed his head away.

Exhausted, I let myself drop on the bed and Freddie was quick to cuddle into my shoulder nook. It took him mere seconds to recover from the rough play – proving to me that I _did_ know how to handle him after all. My anger subsided, lazy tenderness flowed in and filled both of us. We shared a glass of water that I had on my nightstand, and then I took his hand, and we lay there listening to the pounding rain, our fingers intertwined. Mixed with the tingling sensation of the recent pleasure, it felt so comforting, so soothing that I almost forgot what had been bothering me – up until the moment I heard Freddie give out a soft sigh that sounded strangely out of place.

With a pang of jealousy I looked at him. He was watching the rain, still holding my hand, but lost in a daydream and obviously forgetting I was even there. Two-timing bitch, I thought bitterly. Have I not been good enough for you just now? Half an hour ago I could hear you over a bloody _thunderstorm_. You didn’t seem very distracted _then_.

There was little doubt left about the situation anymore. I felt more numb than hurt – the realization wasn’t sinking in, maybe because I could still feel Freddie’s warm heaviness on my chest, and his long thin fingers were still gently curled around mine. Having him so close was like a powerful jab of anesthesia.

I wasn’t going to ask him anything, at least not at that very moment, because I honestly saw no point in it. The last thing I wanted in the world was to have a scene. The truth would out eventually, and it could wait until tomorrow, or some other day. There was no harm in having one short summer night to myself before the things got sour.

“Freddie,” I said quietly. “Just don’t give me any drama, all right?”

“What? Why?” he started, as if waking up.

“I mean it. I’ve already had all the drama I cared to have in my life. I didn’t like it. This time I won’t have any.”

Freddie looked at me earnestly. I couldn’t say whether he was ashamed, or concerned, or sorry – his dark eyes were inscrutable.

“You’re being very enigmatic tonight, my tender bastard of a darling,” he murmured and stroked my chest provokingly. “Would you care to elaborate?”

I licked my fingers, caught his chin in my hand and grazed his puffed, dimly glistening lips with my thumb. Pressing gently, I parted them and gave him the longest, deepest kiss I was capable of. I could feel his whole body tremble with a new wave of excitement and cling to me in response. I knew I had everything I wanted and all the time in the world – until the morning.

“No, I won’t elaborate,” I whispered, running my hand over him. “You’re smart, Freddie. You’ll figure it all out yourself.”

 

I woke up at dawn, and the cool morning air, which was leaking into the room through the open window, still smelled of rain. Freddie was fast asleep, lying on his stomach with his arms tucked under the pillow, one leg bent – as if he was freefalling. I couldn’t see his face – only the mass of black curls and the graceful curve of his back, heaving gently as he breathed.

I pulled at the covers very carefully and looked at him. He was so beautiful. I tried to memorize every bit of his body before I had to go. The vulnerable whiteness of his skin. The little groove on the small of his back. The perfectly slender thighs. The thin ankles begging to be kissed – just like I kissed them slowly and ceaselessly mere two or three hours ago.

After a while I drew the blanket over his shoulders again, dressed quietly, took my car keys and my papers and went downstairs. The fields around the farm were wreathed in white early morning mist, and I had to turn on the headlights. Maneuvering slowly, I got the car to the main driveway and hit the gas. If I ignored the speed limits, I could probably be in London before breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (oops who said that? I don't know her, I swear))


	11. You couldn't lose you couldn't fail

For the next two months I focused quite a lot on my other affairs, as the band knew their routine and were duly occupied with the already well-rehearsed recording process – it was their fifth LP after all – and the road crew was ready for action as the Scotland and Wales gigs were approaching.

Freddie called me once or twice to report on the recording progress, and we had sweet little chats about nothing in particular. I wasn’t going to discuss any personal arrangements over the phone, and Freddie, on his part, seemed oblivious to any tension between us. We avoided any sensitive conversation, he was very inspired about coming back to London soon, I played along, and the overall idea still seemed to be that he remained – kind of – my man.

When the band returned to the city and started a short course of rehearsals for the gigs, I made a few visits to the studio and the rehearsal base, but it was done on the run and squeezed between my other meetings and business trips, so it didn’t contribute to changing the status quo either. Freddie would hang around me in public when I dropped in, chat to me a lot as usual, even give me quick hugs and rather passionate kisses when no one was looking – the caresses I didn’t have enough heart to reject. Well, I did ask him not to give me drama – he was perfectly obliging.

However, as soon as I started seeing him around again, I knew exactly how fucked up I was. To tell the truth, the scale of it was alarming. I was constantly seized with fits of jealousy and rage at the idea that he was favouring someone else over me behind my back and that the thing was out of my control. I tried not to think about it too much, but I felt very unhappy, and I couldn't help wondering gloomily how things were going with the American – if they were at all. I hadn’t seen him anywhere around, but probably Freddie just got better at covering his tracks.

Freddie never came to my house anymore, but neither did I spend much time there myself – my schedule went crazy again because I needed to close the tour with Elton, who was hating my guts for my long absences, and be there at his wrap-up press conferences. Sleeplessly staring out of the jet window into the night sky during the tedious transatlantic flights, I strived to keep the image of Freddie’s body writhing in somebody else’s arms – maybe right at that very moment back home in London – out of my mind. From time to time my anger and pain became so excruciating that I wanted to break the glass and jump out into the darkness just to make it all stop.

I had to talk to Freddie and put an end to the bloody thing. There was no other way. The uncertainty of it all was the worst part – the one that was killing me. Last glimpses of hope mixed with violent jealousy turned my senses into a bundle of bared wires, and the voltage was dangerously high. However, despite my usual bluntness and readiness to address anything that bothered me straight away, I couldn’t bring myself to do it in that particular case. As days went by, I hated myself for that unexpected weakness.

 

Very soon the band went away to play the two summer gigs, and then suddenly the next big thing was looming upon us – we did get the Hyde Park concert, after half a year of negotiations. It was going to be a huge affair: an open-air performance in the heart of London, free entrance, and possibly a TV broadcast. The boys were immensely pleased to play “at home” – they could invite all their nearest and dearest to come and see, and besides it was the great feeling of owning the streets they had been roaming young, obscure and unknown to everybody some five years ago.

We all arrived at the Park in the afternoon to supervise the preparations and soundcheck. It was September and it still felt like summer, I was wearing a cardigan over my shirt and regretting it every minute, and there were quite a lot of people already hanging out in the sunshine near the stage, camping on the grass and waiting for the evening. I flashed my access all areas pass, asked the crew where Freddie was, and went backstage.

When I entered the small dressing room, I was surprised to see Freddie all by himself – Brian hadn’t arrived yet, Roger and Deacy were lurking somewhere around the set, the wardrobe guy must have popped out for a smoke, and the sound engineers and roadies were busy preparing the stage equipment. Freddie would normally be there too, but on that particular day he was trying on his new stage costume – so naturally he lingered at the mirror instead, making sure that everything fit to his liking.

It was exactly the opportunity to seize – the moment to finally talk to him in private, but the new costume presented me with an immediate difficulty. It was the tightest and the most revealing white catsuit I’ve ever seen on anyone, and it hugged every curve of Freddie’s slender body in the most flattering manner. Suddenly I didn’t want to confront him – I wanted to lock the door and run my hands over him in all kinds of wicked ways instead. I haven’t touched him for weeks, since that night at the farm.

“What do you think? Tell me at once,” he demanded, still looking at himself in the mirror and fluffing his hair.

He sounded very excited – something I definitely didn’t share as far as stage gear went, as my possessive instincts quickly came into play. Dashing though it was, it really took someone as bold as Freddie to sport something like that in front of a crowd in the centre of London. In my opinion, instead of wearing this sassy excuse of a garment for a gig he could have gone out there naked and spared us the tailoring costs.

When I told him that, he laughed out.

“You can’t be so jealous darling, and anyway it’s  _art_ ,” he preached. “Would you like to try it on yourself later – say, tonight?”

“What do _you_ think, Freddie?!” I groaned angrily. He definitely wasn’t helping.

“I think that you’re a boring old bun. You should live a little.”

I sighed.

“And how do you like my shoes? They’re real ballet!”

With that, he started to try out various poses he usually struck on stage, and jump and twirl softly in place.

It was time for me to say what I had to say.

“Freddie,” I needed to have his attention. Any moment someone could enter the room. “Look, Freddie, I need you to listen to me for a bit. There’s something we must make clear.”

I tried to sound calm, but I couldn’t: I had been too wound up for days, and there was no way to mask it once the jokes were over and I started to talk about what pained me. My tone spooked Freddie, and he turned to me sharply mid-twirl.

What happened next was too quick for me to discern, but it seemed that Freddie stepped on the string of one of his _real ballet_ shoes and, losing his balance, threw up his arms and swayed. Next moment he bent double with a small piercing cry, and then he clumsily plopped on the floor, curling into a ball.

“Fuck, my ankle!” he whimpered, clutching his leg and pressing his face to his knee. “It hurts! Aww shit, it – it hurts!”

Feeling disconcerted and slightly guilty, I sat down on the floor next to him and tried to uncurl him to see what the matter was.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh no-no-no, it’s not you, it’s me… God, could I have been more squeamish – did you see that? Ow… I think I’ve sprained it,” Freddie cried out in a small voice. He sounded scared. “What if I sprained it? What shall we _do_?! John!..”

“All right, there, let me take a look.”

I made him sit up, and he hesitantly slipped his small narrow foot into my lap. I took it in my hands and carefully felt the ankle joint. Freddie squeaked quietly, but he was clearly unhurt.

“It’s fine, you’ve probably hit it a bit, that’s all. It will be all right in a minute. Sit still.”

Freddie pursed his lips and looked down, and I saw that he was shivering. He must have been terribly nervous because of the show, and the accident shook him and made all his inner turmoil float up to the surface. He looked as if he was on a verge of a meltdown.

I took a deep sigh, moved closer and hugged him, stroking his back soothingly. He clung tight to my chest and we spend a few minutes like that. Then he quickly raised his head and pressed his lips to mine, his faltering breath mixing with a kiss. I broke away and helped him up and onto a chair.

“Where’s the shoe?” I asked, looking around – and there it was, ripped off his foot and lying on the floor under the make-up table. Freddie looked at it, and then at me with tearful eyes.

There was still nobody but us in the room, so I picked up the shoe, went down on my knee and put it back on Freddie’s foot.

It was one hell of a long way away from what I originally intended to do when I entered the dressing room. It was always like that – you had plans, you were determined, and then Freddie just fucking _happened_. 

As if reading my mind, he watched me softly and thoughtfully while I tied the strings, slapped his shin, got up and stood by him.

“What was that you were saying before I made this show of myself, darling?..” he asked meekly, looking down at his feet again and gingerly flexing the injured one. “Damn it, I need a different pair.”

I suddenly got an uneasy feeling that there was a tiny, very tiny hint of irony in his voice. Could it be that it was all just a trick to throw me off the track? I wouldn’t put it past him – him and his bloody little games. It was convenient to keep me and my affections at hand while sleeping around with others, wasn’t it? Or was I just going completely bonkers – paranoid – around this mercurial boy?..

I grasped Freddie’s chin and raised his head. His kohl-rimmed eyes were wide, innocent and full of care.

I looked into them for a while.

“Never mind,” I said as I heard voices and laughter in the corridor. My thumb brushed Freddie’s cheek hard, making him wince. “Your kohl has smudged.”

 

In the twilight, the show started. After the support bands played out, I saw the boys to the stage and went into the audience for the next couple of songs. The concert went great. The band was very loud as usual and more confident than ever, and the crowd was raving. Freddie’s lean white figure darted across the stage at the speed of light. The catsuit did look impressive, I had to grant him that. And fairly transparent. I really hoped it wouldn’t rain.

The show drew over a hundred thousand people – a stunning number, nobody expected this, and when I returned to the wings, the police who supervised the venue started pushing me to cut the set list short before any fracas started. I promised to tell the boys about it when they popped backstage for a minute or two during the parts of songs where they weren’t needed.

Right before his break Freddie seemed to have guessed the tension and decided to cool the crowd down a little and play something nice and slow. He settled himself at the piano, a small white figure in a single spotlight on the dark stage.

“Right now I’m gonna do a very special song,” he leaned into the mike, talking a little breathily after the strain of dancing around and jumping for over an hour. “This is a new song, from our forthcoming album… It hasn’t quite been recorded yet.”

I heard the noise as the other three slammed into the wings puffing and demanding their towels, their water and their ciggie. I made a mental note to go and tell them about the set list in a second.

Freddie started playing, and I lingered. I knew the tune. It went up, and then up, and then gently down again. It was the song I heard him play downstairs in my sitting room in the middle of that suffocating hot night in July.

“You gotta listen to this one,” Freddie interrupted himself solemnly, and then dived headlong into singing the first verse.

_Look into my eyes and you’ll see I’m the only one…_

Freddie was touching the keys gently. He looked delicate and fragile in white, his long eyelashes throwing shadow on his cheeks, and yet the song felt passionate, as if there was a tight spring inside his heart ready to uncoil at a slightest touch – a touch of love being reciprocated.

_Every breath that you take, each sound that you make is a whisper in my ear_

It was a lovely song, sweet and tender as a first kiss. The melody fluttered like ripples on a deep midnight lake, like the wings of a dark velvety butterfly. I stood there and listened to it in an emotionless stupor.

Freddie was in love. I knew him well enough to see it clearly. He was in love head over heels, in his usual presumptuous and determined fashion, and he was singing his soul out to let the world finally hear about it.

_I would surely die if you dismiss me from your love_

_You take my breath away_

He sang the line and threw a quick soft sideway glance at something – somebody – standing close by in the audience. Involuntarily, I followed his look and there he was – the addressee. The _Electra_ guy. The American. I averted my eyes hurriedly, as if electrocuted.

So it wasn’t a fling after all between them, and I finally got the certainty I so craved for. I felt sick and extremely weary.

The great crowd outside was sighing with delight as Freddie glided along the harmonies, and I made my way backstage to tell the boys there would be no encores.

 

By the time the show ended, the crowd got so dense and so heated up that we had to drive the band out of the area in a police car. I asked my chauffeur to follow close, and when the cortege stopped, Freddie obediently changed the cars. After a hot, summer-like day, the night did feel like autumn after all: the air was almost crispy, and it was starting to drizzle. I took off my cardigan and threw it around Freddie’s shoulders, snuggling him into my backseat.

On our way back we said very little. Freddie curled up tiredly in the corner of the seat, completely drained out, clenching the white acryl of the cardigan around him. He was looking out of the window at the night streets and unlit houses we were passing by. I was watching his delicately chiseled profile with something between bitterness and aloofness.

“That _special song_ of yours, Freddie,” I said finally. “You know, you’d make a great liar if it wasn’t for the music. Your music will betray you every time.”

Freddie turned his face to me. He looked sad.

“John, I… I’ve been meaning to talk to you one of these days, I truly have, but I…”

“You don’t have to,” I interrupted curtly. “I know you’ve been cheating. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Freddie was watching me ruefully with those piercing dark eyes of his. He moved his lips nervously. Seconds ticked by, and I knew that everything was slipping away from me, forever. Everything that mattered. The heat, the closeness, the intimacy. The softness of his sleepy breath on my neck. The calming coolness of his skin on mine. The arousing warmth of his lips.

“We can still go on… in a manner, if you want to,” he said very gently.

“I don’t do sharing, Freddie,” I was too tired even to be contemptuous. “You’re mine, or you’re out.”

“Will you remain my friend?” he looked at me searchingly, taking my hand. “I need you, John. Promise you’ll be my friend?”

“We work together,” I withdrew the hand. He was getting pathetic. “Let’s not make things more difficult than they already are.”

We spent the rest of the way to his house in silence, then he got out of the car with one last glance at me. My cardigan remained wrapped around his shoulders as he walked to the front door. I watched him disappear inside the house – a hunched white figure – and after that I went off to a club and got stinking drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I hated doing that to him... but we have three more chapters left, so maaaaybe there will be time to - oh well, no spoilers:)  
> So whose side are you on? Do you think John had it coming?
> 
> Thank you for your sweet comments on the last chapter - I loved them<3


	12. City of the fireflies

To an outside observer, nothing really changed in our relations after the Hyde Park. Freddie was invariably sweet when I had to meet the band or go somewhere with them. He developed that peculiar flirty and gullible attitude towards everyone who was nice to him, and so it was getting difficult to tell whether he singled out anyone as his particular _friend_.

About a week after the show, I heard that the _Elektra_ guy moved in with him. I didn’t ask any further questions. My jealous frenzy was over once I realized Freddie was completely lost to me – I guess I had used up all of my rather limited emotional capacities, and besides, I always had very strong proprietary notions. I would go mad over something that I considered mine, but when it became someone else’s, then I was powerless. Freddie wasn’t mine anymore, there was no bringing him back, and so my rage was gone and replaced by an equally strong dull ache of betrayal, frustration and loss.

That ache I pushed into the farthest corner of my mind and heart and locked it there. I had neither time nor energy to think about it. I had to move on. I had a lot on my hands and couldn’t afford getting distracted by the ruin of the relationship I was bloody stupid enough to get involved into against my better judgement in the first place.

Those first few weeks after a breakup are always the worst – so I knew I just had to clench my teeth and live through them. I maintained appearances, was good-humoured as ever and highly functional, did my work eagerly and with a zest, counted the days until the band would get the fuck out of town and go on tour, and drank and doped myself to sleep every night.

 

By mid-October, the LP was finally finished, and as it was called _A Day at the Races_ , it crossed my mind to celebrate the fact in an appropriate manner – I took the boys, my crew and the press to Kempton Park race course and we had a grand outing and quite some fun. Freddie was very excited, he took a seat next to me in the front row and followed the proceedings with much interest. His only regret was that he couldn’t wear a fancy hat. He told everyone he’d love one with feathers in it.

After the race we had a private celebration and informal LP presentation at my house. Champagne flowed, everyone we knew was present, and the band was surrounded by friends and admirers. Freddie was coaxed into playing a few songs on the piano, and he played the waltz – The Millionaire Waltz, as it was officially called now. It was a vivacious, slightly kitschy tune.

_Once we were mad, we were happy, we spent all our days_

_Holding hands, together_

_Do you remember, my love,_

_How we danced and played?.._

Freddie was signing it very coyly and rather pompously, to make it obvious for everyone that it was a _fun_ song. I guess he found the drama he needed after all, one way or another, because the lyrics was finally complete.

“That’s the one we wrote for John over there, the most stunning millionaire in the room, and attention ladies – and _ladies_ – he’s still single!” he screamed merrily in the end.

Everyone laughed and applauded. I smiled politely and toasted Freddie with my empty champagne glass.

 

The next half a year or so were not something I can remember with any shadow of a good feeling. I think my mind succeeded in cutting out these memories almost completely. When I look back, it all seems like one long, extremely tedious and rather uneventful day.

I recall that I was coming and going all the time at first, eager to leave London as often as my business affairs allowed me. Being abroad had a kind of soothing effect on me. Nobody knew me there, and nobody gave a damn. I wanted to be invisible for a while. London felt suffocating. _Everyone_ seemed to live around fucking Kensington and bump into each other day and night.

In mid-January I was free to come back home at last, as the band went out on tour until June. Of course, I didn’t have a slightest intention to follow them around this time. There was no way for me to find out when Freddie’s man flew in to see him, so there was good chance I would come over on a surprise visit and be greeted with a happily ever after photo op in a hotel lobby. I could never take such moments gracefully.

However, work was work, and although I couldn’t visit for pleasure anymore, I still had to visit for business. As it was already the second tour of our contract, there wasn’t much for me to do: I came over about once a month, checked how things were, made sure the band didn’t forget what I looked like, said hello to our local hosts and friends, had a briefing with the tour manager and the crew, and left. The band made it easy for me to be scarce, because they were dutiful and hard-working boys, and there were close to no emergencies that would require my personal involvement as the manager of the enterprise.

Everything else I had to do in terms of work – I could very well do it from my office. True to my word, I got Madison for Freddie that February. It sold out within minutes of tickets going on sale. On the day of the show I had to attend my business partner’s gala in London, where I got a bit carried away with drink, and that led to an absolutely disgraceful weakness – I called a New York hospitality agent I knew and had a dozen of stargazer lilies delivered to Freddie’s hotel room with a note that said:

_I told you I’d get you everything. JR_

Thankfully, I don’t know whether he reacted in any way, because I took to unplugging the phone in my bedroom at nights, and when it was daytime at London, the New York people were still asleep and probably couldn’t be bothered to get up and make a call.

 

Life without Freddie was… well, dull. Very miserable at first. That didn’t come as a surprise. I perfectly realized that Freddie wasn’t someone you could get over in a mere couple of weeks. He had this special something about him – he was a bit like a drug. The better you knew him, the harder it became to let go.

I didn’t overestimate my willpower – when it came to affairs like that, it was rather poor – so I knew that all I could do for now was bottle up my emotions, wait for the sharpest pangs of despair to subdue, and later on maybe I would see a way to recover from it completely. The process was inevitably going to take some effort – but there was no alternative. I couldn’t force Freddie to come back to me. It was over. Trying to do anything about it would be plain humiliation, and there wasn’t anything worse than humiliation in the world.

I approached the situation logically, just as I approached my work. Pulling through took time and a lot of distractions; I had the former thanks to the tour, and so I focused on the latter. I wasn’t able to get back to my cruising routine for a while, but gradually I started reconnecting with the ways of personal life I used to have before I got so unwisely swept away with that mess of a romance Freddie brought onto my head. For a start, I caught up with my old friends and made some new ones. They all seemed quite… discoloured? – compared to Freddie, but it suited me fine. I was a catch for them, they played to me, they made me laugh. They were harmless.

As days went by, life became easier. I stopped thinking about Freddie all the time, and I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I rarely felt like that anyway, because I hated being a loser, but Freddie did hit me in the soft spot somehow. It was nice to have my feet more or less firmly on the ground again. After all, I was hardly the most sentimental type in the world – I wouldn’t last a day in my job if I were. Life had been making me quite coarse for years, and early 1977 was exactly the time to offer my thanks for that.

In a couple of months I regained my balance considerably, partly rebuilt my safe haven of emotional unavailability, and was ready to welcome the band back home. I would still sometimes spent an evening stretched on my narrow window seat sofa with a drink in my hand and an uneasy feeling of being incomplete in a way I couldn’t quite define, but that was something I could handle. I noticed though that one lasting effect Freddie’s departure seemed to have had on me was that I moved on from wine to whiskey as my nightcap.

 

The band returned to London triumphant, with two Earls Court shows to conclude the tour and a big homecoming party to celebrate it. The party was held at a large rooftop venue in Marylebone, and the warm June night was ablaze with illumination, laughter, music, and clinking of glasses.

I was in good spirits: I looked fine, sported a casual white shirt and some fresh Cote d’Azur tan, and my _plus one_ was a dainty blond art gallery owner from Boston whom I was seeing – purely no strings attached this time, and what a relief that was. Freddie made a little face when he saw us, then waved cheerfully and dived back into conversation with a group of hangers-on. I couldn’t help noticing that he was alone.

Freddie changed a lot since I last saw him properly. His lush wavy black hair was shorter, and the days of bracelets and satin tops were gone: he now wore bombers and tight t-shirts. His whole bearing changed – subtly, almost imperceptibly, but he was a different person. He walked as if he owned the room, his eyes magnetized, and his lithe grace had matured and turned him from a pretty and timid elfish boy into an alluring and confident man well aware of his own charms. The fluffy black kitten, soft ball of fur, grew up to be a sleek and dangerous young panther.

Even his scent changed – he now wore _Lagerfeld_ , as I found out when I went out to the balcony for a smoke and after a few minutes felt the so very familiar arms crossing on my waist. I turned to face Freddie, and he kissed me gently on a cheek.

“I haven’t talked to you for ages darling, you’re always so busy and important these days. You don’t love your silly old tart anymore, do you?”

“I’m legally bound to my silly old tart until next summer, as per contract,” I smiled politely. “Anyway, why are you not in there having fun?”

“Oh I’m sick of them all,” he tossed his head arrogantly. “I’d rather be here with you for a while.”

“As you wish,” I turned to look at the softly rumbling night city below us. “And where is… I’m sorry, I mean – how is your… _friend_ doing?”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Freddie pursing his lips.

“He had to work tonight. You know… no, never mind. We should see each other more often now that I’m back. Let’s go out together sometime? Remember the _fun_ we used to have?”

“Every minute of it,” I said a tad viciously, but fortunately at that moment my date stepped out onto the balcony to get me. We had to make an appearance at another party later that night, and it was time to be going.

Freddie turned around sharply. He was annoyed at the interruption.

“Who the fuck is that? I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said quietly and almost playfully, but not very amiably.

“That’s Andy,” I smiled. “Good night Freddie.”

We left the balcony and went downstairs where my car was already waiting.

 

The surprising thing was that we actually did start seeing each other more often starting that night. This new, mature Freddie felt different – he felt safe, as if he was another person, not the one we broke up with nine months ago. There seemed to be no danger of an emotional setback now that he so little resembled that naïve black-haired boy I used to kiss, and hold, and guide. It was an illusion, of course, but I felt quite at ease, and it was somehow comforting to have him around again.

Gradually we seemed to have gone back to the days when it all began – the days when we were great friends, and nothing more than friends, keen to have fun together. We still got on well and could chat and gossip for hours. He was no longer my protégé at the parties – for all there was, it was _me_ starting to feel like a hanger-on to the superstar of the day – but it didn’t make our outings less fun. He still trusted me, I still cared about him in a way, and we were both looking for entertainment.

By mutual unspoken agreement we never took our men along when we went out, although we often brought friends and various associates. To be honest, I reveled darkly at the subtle impression I picked up that Freddie was… well, I don’t want to say he was actually straying, but I could see that he was definitely no longer so infatuated as I saw him to be at the Hyde Park show. Curiously enough, he was still fiercely, almost painfully attached to his American – maybe it was his idea of what real love should look and feel like.

I also noticed that Freddie was partying much harder than before and drinking more. He was often emotionally strained now, and he started acting a lot like a diva – as if the whole world expected him to be outrageous and scandalous, and he needed to comply. He would often throw tantrums just for the fun of it – nothing serious, all very mild and harmless compared to some other artists of my acquaintance whom I wouldn’t like to name – but tantrums nevertheless. That was new. The heavy mantle of fame was wrapping tight around his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't the heart to leave John suffering for long, so here is the new chapter, my dear readers<3  
> It's risky to get so close to Freddie again - but... don't stop him now, he's having such a good time;)  
> We have two chapters left and there will be quite a few good and bad things happening in them.


	13. Just a simple fact of life

The new album took only two months to be recorded – the band went for a simpler sound this time, with fewer harmonies and no weird musical instrument involved, for a change. They didn’t leave London for the recording, and so it was meticulous music production by day – and going wild by night. The entire band was taking up a more star-like attitude – the boys finally got a taste of what it felt like to be young, rich and extremely popular, and they started going out quite a lot, and having a really good time too. They were becoming quite naughty at times.

In this pleasant fashion, the summer flew by in a blink, and very soon the LP called _News of the World_ came out. It was a decent, solid record, despite the initial mixed reviews. We went through the regular presentation stuff, and the boys were itching to go on tour, because they were as usual very exhausted with the studio time.

That year, we decided to take it easy and to break the tour in two parts – the US leg was to take place from autumn to New Year, and the domestic shows and the European part were scheduled for spring 1978. We didn’t have to try too hard – the boys were now universally loved and wanted. New York sold two shows this time, and I had a feeling it was just the beginning of their _real_ fame.

 

I came over to the US quite often during the tour. The band started giving after parties for almost every show – it finally became work and play, or even play and work, instead of simply work. That suited me perfectly. London seemed boring in comparison.

At the social events, I continued to stick to Freddie mostly. Regardless of our own personal history, he was the biggest star of the bunch. He had the funniest friends. It was Freddie and I who got invitations to the most lavish parties and to other exciting places. I have to say that we started neglecting the others quite a bit – at first we brought Roger, Deacy and Brian along with us, but they were often hard to please and we didn’t want to spoil the fun, so as time went by, we became more secretive about our comings and goings.

I knew that the three of them were not exactly satisfied with the situation, but I didn’t feel obliged to do anything about it. I had been a good manager to the band. I bought them out of a ruinous contract, I gave them every opportunity to create, I negotiated and fulfilled a bloody billion quid worth of promotion. Yes, they were the ones with the unique talent, but I was the one to guide that talent out of the obscurity via the fastest route. I had been professional, I had been efficient, and I had been loyal, and so I felt completely eligible to rest on my laurels for a bit and have some fun too.

 

I was doing exactly that during the last week of the US tour’77. We had a crazy after party in Las Vegas at our gig hosts’ – Aladdin casino and restaurant, and Freddie insisted I sat at his table for the night, although he didn’t invite the others to join. I readily agreed, and we snuggled close to each other at the already rather crowded table, our drinks in hand. Our friendship was in its second golden age.

By that time I grew so comfortable around Freddie once again that I even returned to some of my patronizing little habits from the time when we were actually together. For one, I started spoiling him with gifts now and then, just like I used to. Freddie loved gifts. He didn’t even care that much what was inside – a Cartier trinket straight from Bond Street or a two-penny lollipop – he just loved to receive them, to unwrap them and to make happy little sounds as he was holding his new treasure in his hands for the first minute or two. I was pretty sure that he lost or gave away most of the stuff later on, but his momentary joy amused me every time.

I brought him a thin silver bracelet that day, and when we sat down he immediately slipped his hand into the right pocket of my jacket where he knew his gifts were always kept. When he fished the bracelet out, he took a stealthy look at it under the table, and I heard him draw a happy breath. It seemed that a miracle happened: once in a lifetime I picked something that he really liked. He pinched my hand impatiently under the table and I lowered my eyes and discreetly fastened the snap for him. Then he gracefully placed his hand on the table to be able to admire his new acquisition out of the corner of his eye, and I smirked at the thought that he would keep on wearing it when I go away – a shiny mark of me on his right wrist.

The evening was a joyous one. Freddie was happy and drunk, his gaudy bright blue shirt under a black leather jacket was very becoming, he laughed merrily at everyone’s jokes and was constantly hiding his face on my chest in a very sweet manner. We had a great time, and he soon talked me into coming back again for the last show of the tour. He had something special in mind for the celebration, and his London friends – as well as his boyfriend, which was to me a far less welcome addition, but what could I do – were coming over too.

Another reason for me coming back was that on the day following the last show we were lucky enough to secure a marvelous TV appearance: an interview with the band in prime time and a half-hour live gig to complement it. It came completely out of the blue: Jim and I had been negotiating something like this with several major TV channels for ages, but we never expected it to work out so nice and sweet in the end. It happened so that another band, who were scheduled for the date, pulled out on a very short notice due to health issues, and the producer was gracious enough to remember about us and give me a call.

We jumped at the opportunity, and the deal was struck; to make things even better, the studio was in LA, so it was a comparatively short drive from our hotel and no extra travel costs. Now my and Jim’s job was to make sure everything went smoothly and to keep the boys from getting too wasted – or getting lost – during the after party.

 

The last show, which took part in LA’s Inglewood, was indeed a big affair. We – the crew and the friends – dressed up as elves and clowns for the second encore and went out to the stage along with three hired belly dancers to join the band in one crazy pre-Christmas-ish bacchanalia of _Jailhouse Rock_. Freddie was running around the stage barefoot in his glittering catsuit as the gracious host of the ball, casting blinding beams of light all around. Five thousand balloons were dropped at the audience from the high ceiling and hovered in the air majestically, falling down slowly. It was a sight to see – once in a lifetime.

After the show, backstage, Freddie was the ultimate star, the prima donna of the world in its entirety. He easily outshined everyone, including the rest of the band. His friends and hangers-on were smitten all over again for the thousandth time. His boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. Later on he appeared, but was mostly sulking in a corner. I didn’t feel much sorry for him.

I hadn’t seen Freddie so excited for a while. He was _very_ excited. Rather too much so. The more I looked at him, the louder my inner voice whispered to me that it was bound to end in a disaster. If he snapped now, it would be big time.

I tried to keep an eye on him for as long as I could, but after midnight we had to part ways. I needed to woo our new friend the TV producer a little, as a thanks for his kindness, and so I took him to a very private club I knew in LA and had to hang around with him for two hours more listening to his complains about frigid women, trade unions, and other stuff I couldn’t care less about.

 

The cab brought me back to my hotel at half past two in the morning. A busy start of the day in London, then a long flight where I was catching up on paperwork, then – hello GMT-7 – still a busy afternoon in Inglewood turning into a busy night in Inglewood – it was too much, and after almost twenty-four hours without sleeping I was literally dead on my feet. I sat down heavily on my bed and started undoing my tie when the phone rang.

It was Freddie, and he was having an utter meltdown.

“John,” he wailed. “Can… can you come over? I can’t handle it all alone. Please, John, it’s so horrible, can you come now?”

“What’s wrong, Freddie?” I was extremely tired and tipsy, and I couldn’t understand what happened. I left him at the party two hours ago perfectly enjoying himself.

The thought of going somewhere was torturous.

 “Freddie?.. Are you there?..”

“It’s all over, and I can’t… I can’t do it, I… please, please? John?” he sounded hysterical, almost in tears.

“You can’t – what?.. Freddie, I’ve just got back five minutes ago. What do you need me for?”

There was some inarticulate whimpering.

 “All right, I’ll come, are you in your room?” I sighed.

“Yes, come up, just don’t… don’t be long? I can’t be alone, I…”

I said I will be quick, and dragged myself downstairs to see if my cab was still around.

 

I found Freddie in his room lying curled up on the oversized king bed with his face to the wall. He was half-dressed and there was some broken glass on the floor next to the bed. He didn’t turn around when he heard me come in.

I climbed onto the bed and put my hand on his arm. His skin felt feverish, and underneath it his muscles were tense.

“Hey. I’m here. What’s wrong?”

Without answering, Freddie turned around and hid his face in my lap. He was breathing in gasps that resembled sobs, like a small hurt child who can’t scream anymore but whose pain is still sharp.

“Where is everyone?” I asked. “Why are you all by yourself? What’s with the glass?”

“I don’t know,” his voice was muffled. “I told them to get the fuck out of here. They all left me.  _He_ left me.”

Oh well, I see.

“He said he couldn’t do it anymore and he fucking left just like that, in the middle of that stupid party. How could he do this to me? And with everyone bloody staring. He was supposed to love me always, no matter what. He  _said_  so.”

I didn’t know what to tell him.

“It happens, Freddie,” I stroked his hair. “You’ll find somebody else to love you sooner or later, trust me.”

Freddie rolled over on his back and I saw that his face was hollow and swarthy with anger and pain. He looked terrible, his eyes were red, and his gaze was burning. His misshaped lips twitched.

“John,” he pleaded. “I can’t do it. I can’t leave the room. I won’t go to that TV thing tomorrow. I just can't. All those people looking at me. Please, can you cancel it? For me, can you?”

“But Freddie, we can’t just cancel it like that,” I was appalled. “It’s an hour-long feature. It will be broadcast nationally. It’s our opportunity of the year in the US. We’ve been waiting for this chance for ages. You can’t just skip it because you had a row with your lover.”

He sat up sharply and caught my face in his hands.

“Please, John. You’re my only friend here. You must help me. Do you want me to go on my knees and beg? You have to understand. I can’t do this. I won’t do this. Not like this, not after… no, no, don’t make me, please. Please don’t make me. John, dear! Look at me!”

“Freddie, I have to ask this. Are you high?”

He brought his face closer to mine.

“No,” he groaned. “I’m fucking _heart-broken_ , can’t you see?!”

He looked extremely shaken, and he was getting more and more wound up with every word. If he goes on like this for a while, I thought, there will be no point in shooting the feature tomorrow anyway, as he would be in no condition to sing, or talk, or probably even stand straight. It seemed I had little choice. Besides I felt sorry for him – I had never seen him in this state before.

I considered the options we had.

“Look, I can probably try, but what will the boys say? I’ll have to cancel it for everyone, you know. The TV people specifically wanted you, Freddie. We can’t send them there alone.”

“I don’t care,” he screamed, moving away from me. “They’ll have to live with it. Why do you all hate me so much?”

He curled into a ball and covered his face with his hands, his slightly greasy black curly head bobbing. The situation was starting to look hopeless.

“Freddie. Nobody hates you. It’s just a big thing to ask, that’s all. Are you sure it’s final? Is there a way you could still do it?”

“No,” he whispered. “I absolutely can't do it. There is no way”.

I hesitated. Then he looked at me and grabbed my hands.

“I want to be here with you instead. You’re the only friend I have in the world. If you do it, if you cancel… the TV thing for me, I want you to stay with me right here until it’s time to fly back home. We’ll draw all the curtains and we’ll let nobody in. Just you and me, right? I want to have you next to me, like it used to be with us two – remember, my dear? Don’t you believe me?”

I was very exhausted and suddenly very miserable. I realized that I  _did_  want to believe him so much. I also realized I had been secretly waiting for this all along – their quarrel. Their break-up. The end of this nightmarish nonsense. Him turning back to me somehow, someday.

My mind was so clouded with fatigue, whiskey, and loneliness that I couldn’t think straight. All I wanted to do was take Freddie in my arms, lie down on the white linen which still smelled a little of fresh laundry, close my eyes and drift off to sleep with his comforting warmth spreading over my chest. I wanted to lie there forever holding him close, feeling that he was happy and calm again, knowing that he would be there when I wake up, and that everything was all right after all. It seemed to be so easy. So close. I just needed to do what he asked first.

I reached out for the phone.

“Jim,” I said. “Sorry I woke you up. Can you come up to Freddie’s hotel? We need to cancel tomorrow’s TV appearance for the band. Let’s see how much it will… what?.. No, I’m not fucking crazy, just do what I tell you, will you? Yes… Yes, in his room. I’ll be here.”

Freddie lay down again with his face pressed to the bedsheets.

“I don’t want to see him,” he muttered. “I won’t leave the room. Get it done and come back to me.”

 

When Jim came over, I had to collect the last bits of my energy to endure twenty minutes of a very heated argument.

“Look, I know all that, I’ve seen the figures, I know we all worked a lot to make it happen,” I threw up my hands tiredly after we went over every possible issue for the tenth time. “But there’s no way he will do it. He’s lying in there wailing his heart out about his… well, whatever. We’ll cancel. It’s on my authority. I’ll be responsible for the consequences.”

“Well, if you say so,” Jim sounded unconvinced.

I leaned against the wall.

“Are we good?.. We’ll have a closer look into it tomorrow. Sorry, I’m done in.”

“Shall I tell the band now? They were still downstairs when I came.”

“Do,” I agreed.

“They won’t like it, you know.” Jim hesitated. “They’ve been feeling… a bit left out recently.”

“Tell them to fuck off and go spend the money I helped them earn,” I snapped. “I’m their manager, not their babysitter.”

Jim threw me a long look and walked out.

 

I stood leaning against the wall for a while. While we were talking, I could catch snaps of high-pitched conversation from Freddie’s bedroom. I registered it matter-of-factly somewhere deep in my mind – he must have been having a row over the phone with someone. I couldn’t make out the words, because I was too busy convincing Jim that we had to do an absolutely mad thing for an absolutely mad reason, but I was pretty sure I heard Freddie’s angry screams at times. Later they subsided, and now in the silence of the empty suite I couldn’t hear a sound.

I walked very quietly to the bedroom door, which was left ajar.

Freddie was standing with his back to me, still on the phone. He didn’t talk for a while. When he spoke again, his voice was very soft.

“Is it true this time?..” he asked, a little hoarse from too much screaming.

Silence.

“Don’t do this to me ever again, do you hear me?.. No… no it wasn’t  _just two hours_ , I’ve had a proper fit because of you, you horrible, horrible little trollop!”

Silence.

“Of  _course_ … God, why do you even ask?”

I suddenly felt so, so,  _so_  bloody stupid. I was the most stupid person in the world. In the universe.

“All right, all right, come over. I know… I can’t either… look darling, just give me, say, an hour, will you?”

Silence.

“No-o, I swear it’s not, I just have to sort out some… some stuff here. It won’t take long.”

Then there was another short pause, and after that Freddie said something very quietly, and I couldn’t hear the words.

Then he put the phone back on the receiver and just stood there. A minute later, he turned around and he saw me in the doorway.

I shook my head.

“Some stuff?..” that was all I could say.

“John, please, it’s not… I can explain, wait!”

Freddie made a motion to catch my arm, but I turned around and stormed out of the room, opening the door with a bang.

“John? John!” he shrilled, while I was walking fast to the elevator.

I pressed the button and turned away from him, but next second he caught up with me and was in my face again.

“John, you can’t… you can’t just leave, can we talk? It’s not how it sounds, it’s just that he called me and I was so mad at him, but he said he was so sorry and that he was wrong and…”

“Where the  _fuck_  is it?!” I snarled, hitting the elevator button sideward with my fist. Sharp pain shot through my arm.

The doors opened and I rushed inside. Freddie tried to follow, still mumbling something, but I pushed him out and he had to hold on to the wall behind him not to fall. That shut him up finally.

I was standing inside the elevator when we crossed looks. I could see defiance and hurt in his eyes.

Precious, simply precious. After all he just did he still had the audacity to be the one taking the offence.

“I’m so bloody sick and tired of you, Freddie,” I breathed out, letting all my pain finally erupt. “I don’t want to lay eyes on you ever again.”

He was still holding my gaze as the doors closed, and then all I could see was my own distorted and ugly reflection in the dimly shining metal.

 

I almost ran through the hotel lobby, desperate to get out of the place, when I heard my name called out in an angry voice.

When I turned around, there were Roger and Deacy behind me. They looked irritated. Jim was standing nearby.

I stopped impatiently.

“Hey John,” Roger continued. “What’s this shit we hear about the cancellation? Are you bloody mad? We don’t want to cancel!”

I wasn’t sure I had enough command of my voice to answer.

“Ask Freddie about that,” when I finally forced myself to speak, it came out bitter.

“Freddie, Freddie, Freddie,” Roger waved his hands theatrically. He was also drunk, and wound up too. “It’s always about Freddie these days. When the fuck did it all become so Freddie-centered?”

Deacy chuckled sarcastically.

“Trust me, Rog,” he said in a small calm voice. “You  _wouldn’t_  like it to be centered around  _you_. You wouldn’t last a minute I suppose.”

He chuckled again.

“What the fuck did you just say?” before I could think, I hurled myself at him.

Next second someone caught my hand. It was Jim.

“Enough,” he said.

We froze. I came to my senses and felt immensely foolish and completely washed out.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. My legs were failing me. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I need to go home.”

Leaving them in the lobby, I limped out of the hotel, heaved into a cab and blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, dears, here is the last-but-one update, and you're probably hating me right now:))  
> Well, John WAS playing with fire - and there is one last chapter still ahead. Chapter 14 is almost complete, I'll need several more days to polish it, and I really really hope you'll like it when I post it, because I like it myself so far, and I hope it won't be a big disappointment.
> 
> Meanwhile, I'll be happy to hear from you about what you think will happen next - your comments always make me feel good, especially when I see familiar nicknames:) It makes everything really worth it.


	14. Spread your wings

The next morning I took the earliest flight to London, where I got home and locked myself inside for a few days. I was physically and mentally drained. Four months of non-stop partying, flying in and out, getting carried away and indulging in wishful thinking made me feel as if I got older by ten years. That last night alone added five more to the bargain. 

I stayed in, sent a note to my office saying that I was down with severe fever, and made no attempt to contact anyone, but a couple of days later Jim rang me up himself.

“What’s up?” Nothing very good, I bet.

“Look John, don’t take it the wrong way, but the boys asked me to call and let you know they would like to terminate.”

I was expecting that, but it still was hard to take. I didn’t answer.

“It’s nothing personal really, John. You have been great. They just think it is time to move on. Can you come over and sign the papers in a week or so?”

“Who’s going to manage them now?”

“I’m not sure it can be disclosed just yet…”

“Oh damn it, don’t give me that bullshit. Who’s going to manage them?”

“Me.”

I paused.

“Good choice. Good luck.”

I hung up. It will be officially over then. In a week or so.

 

A few days later I drove over to Roger’s new house to sign the termination papers. The house wasn’t his as such – the bargain was under way, and he didn’t even have the key yet, but was allowed to use the gardens. True to their thrifty selves, the boys were going to shoot two videos there for the _News of the World_. Outdoor shoots in January, what a splendid idea.

We sat in the back seat of Freddie’s brand new car – a Rolls Royce, no less – and signed the severance papers Jim duly proffered. Everyone was very friendly and just a little bit uncomfortable. Brian was very eloquent and very apologetic, while the others mostly kept quiet. With a handshake, we closed the deal, and said our goodbyes for now. Freddie’s hand was limp and cold, as was his goodbye nod.

I got back to my car and sat there for a while, watching the crew lay out the set for the video. Freddie was prancing around excitedly in his tight white pants and star-shaped sunglasses, and in greasy gloves he obviously wheedled out of some kinder-hearted crew member. It was cold as hell outside, and I saw him sipping from a brandy bottle. I knew he would get drunk very soon, but this wasn’t really my problem anymore. I touched my chauffeur’s shoulder and we drove off just as it started snowing.

Spread your wings and fly away, indeed.

 

However, it turned out to be my problem after all, as it – quite literally – followed me home. Late at night when I was sitting in my bedroom with a glass of whiskey, looking through some papers, I heard wild battering on my front door, and there was Freddie, completely wasted, having difficulty standing up, no Rolls Royce in sight. He must have still had my keys, but I changed the lock some time before.

“Well, come in,” I said, and immediately had to grab him by the waist, as he stumbled upon the doorstep and almost fell.

“Take me up,” he demanded, ripping off his coat and white scarf and dropping them on the floor. “We need to t-talk.”

I half-dragged him up the stairs and sat him down into the armchair in my bedroom.

“What do you want?”

“I want… to make up,” his tongue was faltering. “We must… we must m-make up.”

“We didn’t quarrel, Freddie,” I stood with my arms crossed, looking down on him. “You had every right to terminate the contract. It’s nothing personal.”

Freddie was clearly very drunk and in one of his vicious moods.

“Fuck the contract,” he blurted. “You know what I’m talking about.”

I wasn’t in the mood to discuss, so I shrugged my shoulders.

“Don’t you dare shrug your fucking shoulders at me like that!” my indifference enraged him. “What, are you going to pret… t-tend that nothing ever happened?”

“I’m not sure I understand. I was just your manager, Freddie, you know that. No need to rant.”

“No you weren’t! Say you weren’t!” he was screaming now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I felt some strange pleasure in seeing him so mad.

“Oh but you _do_. You do, don’t you? You just never had the guts to say it. Not fucking _once_.”

Red with anger, his eyes flashing, he tried to catch hold of me from where he sat, but I stepped back. He tried to get up, but he couldn’t.

“What about your bloody promises to be there for me?” he was looking up at me in a fury. “What about all the nights I spent right here, on this bed?”

“What about them, Freddie?” I snapped. “Wasn’t it just _some stuff_?”

Next thing I knew he half-rose from the armchair shakily and grasped my belt.

“Say it, just say the words, won’t you? I want to hear them,” he hissed, frantically trying to undo the clasp. I shook him off with something close to disdain. I couldn’t believe we came to this.

“Look, this stops now, or I’ll kick you out.”

“I’d love to see you try,” Freddie screamed and finally got up to his feet, swaying badly. His fury gave him strength, and he half-jumped, half-fell towards the desk and swept everything off it in one desperate swing.

I came close, caught his wrists and turned him around sharply to face me.

“Enough of that,” I shook him hard to make him come to his senses a bit. His head bobbed.

Next moment, Freddie’s fury was gone, and he seemed scared by what he had said and done seconds ago. He was still very woozy, but the desperation I suddenly saw in his wide-open eyes shocked me. He looked small, miserable and lost.

“You’re not asking the right person, Freddie,” I prompted, taking pity on him. “Don’t you have someone to say exactly this kind of words to you?..”

"John," he pleaded quietly, weak and limp in my arms. "You don't understand. Nothing feels real around me these days. Nothing. When I get the love I want… from him, I can’t stop thinking if maybe it’s just a lie – again. He walked out on me that night. I don’t believe him anymore. It’s all lies, lies, lies, and nothing else. I get so scared sometimes. I just need you to say that what _we_ had was real. I _have_ to know. Please."

I could feel him shiver violently with agitation, waiting for my answer. It hurt me to see him like that. Besides, what did I have to hide? I had no wish to tease him any longer.

"Of course it was real, you silly little fool," I said softly. "How else could it be? I've loved you all along. I’ve never loved anyone like I loved you, Freddie, and I hope I never will, thank you very much." 

He gave out a long sigh of relief and made a move to kiss me, but instead of that, mental exhaustion and intoxication took their toll, and he passed out and fell heavily on my shoulder.

 

I heaved him onto the bed, took off his shirt and pants and socks and the silver bracelet I gave him in Las Vegas, and pulled my blanket over him, without really thinking about what happened. Blocking out any emotion, I crawled onto the bed too and looked down at his slender frame. There he was, just like on that very first night, two years ago, safe in my home, safe in my arms. I remembered it so well. It could have been yesterday.

I looked at him. He was so fragile, so vulnerable. The angry frown smoothed away, and his sharp high-cheekbone face relaxed, full lips parting a little and baring the tips of his upper teeth in an expression of child-like sleepy wonder. He was that gentle, gullible boy again, the one I fell for when we first met. To my horror, I felt a pang in my heart. What’s going to happen to him out there? Without me? What troubles will he get himself into? I feared there would be way too many.

Freddie was deep in his drunken slumber, and I sat for a long, very long time stroking his uncombed dark head and clutching him close, holding him in my lap. In my mind, memories were gently flashing in and out like a kaleidoscope. Letting go of him seemed like losing him all over again, and so I sat there, shielding him from everything, until in my gloomy vigilance I got a gritty burning feeling in my eyes – it was probably the lack of sleep.

I lowered Freddie on the pillows and tucked him in, went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face, changed into my well-worn black fleece robe, looked at the clock – it was three in the morning, but winter nights were long – and then I got under the covers too and lay down next to him in the darkness.

 

In the morning I woke up to Freddie’s gentle little kisses nibbling my neck. I was still half-asleep, and the soft touch of his lips felt so much like coming home… up until the moment I realized it wasn’t the spring of 1976 anymore.

I looked at him. He was wide awake, and apparently with no trace of hangover. I always wondered at his ability to look so trim in the mornings, no matter how wild a party he graced with his presence the day before. He even had time to slip into the bathroom and freshen up while I was asleep: his lips and cheeks felt damp and cool – and smooth, which meant he pinched my shaving kit too. Well, he knew his way around the house for sure.

“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. I wanted to make sure we’re all right,” he snuggled up to me soft as a cat, searching for my lips, persistent in his caresses. As if nothing happened. As if there hadn’t been any Inglewood escapades. As if the floor in the room wasn’t scattered with bits and pieces of my whisky glasses and my work papers after his yesterday’s little tantrum.

Well, that was Freddie – through and through.

Guessing my thoughts, he meekly rubbed his cheek against mine, purring in my ear. “Please, be nice to me, John. Don’t be mad at me. I know I was so dreadful yesterday. And before that too. It won’t happen again. Oh dear, are you mad? Let’s be friends now. Are we friends?”

He pressed closer to me under the blanket, quickly untying my robe, and I realized he was naked. That was ridiculous. I shouldn’t have spilled out that sentimental bullshit he made me confess to yesterday. Now he wasn’t even letting me get out of it all with dignity. Buying his peace of mind with his body? Whom did he take me for, a slave trader? Or was he taking pity on me? I didn’t know what was worse.

“ _Freddie_. What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped and pushed him and his kisses aside. “Get off me. What’s that, a mercy fuck?”

He was suddenly very serious.

“No,” he answered, looking at me fixedly. “That’s how we need to say our goodbye.”

I rose on my elbow, determined to get up and walk out, but he readily threw his arms around my neck, rolled me over him, and I felt his leg curl around my hip, locking me in a full-body embrace.

“Forgive me, John,” Freddie said quietly, not letting me go. “For everything.”

When I said nothing, he took one hand off my neck and slid it down my belly. I shrank from his touch at first, but then involuntarily I melted into it with a shuddering realization how much I missed him all that time. He didn’t move his hand, he just rested it between my thighs enveloping me gently, but that was enough for my body to immediately respond. Freddie smiled coyly and moved his fingers a little. Unable to hold myself back, I rubbed lightly against his palm, and next moment with a groan of self-hatred I dropped my head into the curve of his neck and breathed in the familiar scent of his skin. He tugged at the collar of my robe, pulling it off and baring my back.

“Freddie,” I pleaded in a muffled whisper. “Why are you doing this to me?.. Why can’t you just leave me be?”

“Because I want to know how it feels,” his fingertips traced my spine up and down, and I shivered on top of him.

“How _what_ feels? We had sex dozens of times. What is there to know?..”

“Yes, we did,” Freddie kissed me gently below the ear and pulled at the earlobe with his lips, making me moan. “But we never made _love_. I want to know how it feels… with you. Before I go. Because I loved you too, you know. I loved you _so_ much, John.”

I sat up, finally pulling away from him, ruining the embrace. And yet I couldn’t go away now. His words were hanging in the air, making my heart sink and at the same time soar in an odd bittersweet haze. There was suddenly no point in resisting… no point in anything, really. It was all so bloody stupid.

Freddie’s skin was so white on my dark blue covers. It glowed in the pale early morning light streaming through my bedroom curtains. He was so beautiful, so full of life, and playfulness, and grace – no words could describe it properly. I lingered, watching him, and Freddie looked back at me, waiting silently. Suddenly he reached out for my hand, pressed it to his chest, then guided it down to his hips, and started moving it along with his own, gently, tentatively.

“Make love to me?..” he mouthed, stroking my arm, not letting me take it away.

His lean, slender body felt so familiar. I knew every inch of it. I had kissed every inch of it. Arousing under my hand, it begged, yearned to be fondled in every way I got to know so well. I looked at him again, and then – I yielded. For one last time, I was going to do just that – in every way I knew, and then I would invent some new ones, if Freddie wanted me to.

With a sigh of liberation, I bent down and let my mouth greedily slide up his leg. It all came back to me – his taste, the texture of his skin, everything. Not wanting to tear away from him just yet, not even for a minute, I licked my fingers and slipped my hand between his thighs. Our favourite little game began, and I loved it – driving him so wild, making him anticipate what was to come and long for it just as I did. He was squirming under my touch, hungry for my caresses, kisses and playful bites.

We enjoyed it for quite a while, and then I straightened up and stroked his thighs, dying to move on. I knew I did everything a gentle lover should, but when I pushed myself forward, his small pained cry still made me halt.

“Have you forgotten my ways?” I teased with a quiet chuckle. “It’s been a year.”

“Sixteen months,” he looked up at me from under his quivering eyelashes and smiled, biting his lip.

A few moments passed, and Freddie reached for my waist and carefully pulled me closer. Following his lead, I started rocking my hips slowly back and forth, filling him and savoring the sensation. With every move, warm shivers were uncoiling in the pit of my stomach, and I watched Freddie’s almond-shaped eyes grow heavy and sparkle dimly, as the languid daze of submission misted them. He was right when he once told me that he was all about love. This was the kind of love he meant – the surrendering, the merging, the belonging.

Lost in the moment, I just went with the flow and let my body choose the pace. From time to time I moved fast and rough to his breathy cries, and then slowed down again for a while and bent lower over him. Docile in his dreamy self-absorption, Freddie rose and met me halfway each time, hugging me by the neck while his soft mouth was searching eagerly for mine. After we shared a kiss, he fell back on the bed again, and I ran my hands in long soothing strokes over his shoulders and his chest. I loved touching him like that, firmly and greedily, as if I had every right to, and nobody else in the world did.

Once or twice Freddie tried pulling me closer again, this time with lusty impatience. After warming up, he always became a demanding little thing. The interweaving of slowness and intensity made my head spin, and finally I lowered myself on top of him completely and wrapped my arms around him, resting my chest on his. Sweat burned my eyes, and I pressed my brow to his shoulder, as his hands started stroking my back.

“Say it… again, John,” he whispered in my ear. “I want… I want to hear it.”

“Freddie, oh Freddie, my…” I breathed in sharply. “My… _love_.”

He moaned loudly, as if my words alone were enough to finish him off, and I couldn’t tell anymore whether it was my racing heartbeat or the pounding of our bodies against each other. I was endlessly panting out his name and sweet passionate nonsense, and then I couldn’t do even that, my mind and body spinning out of control completely. Soon the bursts of pleasure hit me hard, shredding my every nerve and covering me with a slow, overwhelming wave of bliss. Clinging to Freddie, I couldn’t move a limb, I just shivered.

His hand brushed lightly against my side, going down, and that snatched me out of my reverie. I followed his move, tracing my fingers along his arm, and I felt that he was touching himself, his tension still heated and unresolved. I pushed his hand away and took over, hovering over him, feeling light-headed – his beautiful face was slightly blurring in my unfocused gaze.

As I was tightening and relaxing my grip, Freddie raised his hands and buried his long fingers into the sweaty tousle of my hair. He arched his back a little, gasping for breath, and then he tilted up his sharp chin, parted his lips and closed his dark, fiery eyes. Giving in to the silent appeal, I bent down and kissed him while his fingers were ruffling my hair even more, tugging at it passionately.

I went on kissing him vigorously and deeply for a few moments until he moaned into my lips, thrusting his body uncontrollably towards mine in one hot throbbing mess of ecstatic pleasure. I gave him as long as he needed before taking my hand away, and then he pulled me close, and we both finally relaxed. Our foreheads were touching, our breath and sweat mixed, our arms and legs intertwined, and we just lay like that for a while, melting into each other. I was covering his body with mine, keeping him warm. 

I don’t know how much time passed – it could have been five minutes, or an hour, or a lifetime. Freddie opened his eyes and looked at me. He was himself again.

I came to know those intense, warm brown eyes of his so well. They were sparkling softly under the perfect eyelashes, and I saw glimpses of recent pleasure lingering in their slightly upswept outer corners. I saw a lot of deep, underlying tenderness, and I saw… well, a kind of gratitude, I guess. That was all there was.

I knew this chapter of my life was finished. A few days ago, Jim was right on the phone – it was time to move on. We did say our goodbye just now.

I held Freddie close to me for a while longer. Then he stirred very lightly, but I could guess his impatience. I let him go.

Freddie got up and dressed quietly. I watched him from the bed, then I reached for my cigarettes and lit one. Neither of us said a word. With a last soft glance at me, he buttoned up his shirt, put on his sunglasses and left the room. I heard his springy steps on the stairs, then the front door clicked, and Freddie was gone. All alone in my bedroom among the splinters of broken glass, I was left to assess the damages.

The little bird has spread its wings and flown away – it didn’t nestle warmly on my chest anymore. That’s the way things always were, like a change of seasons, like time itself. There was no other option but to live with it – there was no other way but to go on and on. There would be so many other summer nights, and so many other frosty mornings. One day the winter would be over, and there probably would be spring in the air once again… one day Freddie might come back to this room – or he might not.

Anyway, it definitely wasn’t going to be today. Or tomorrow either. I was pretty sure it was going to be a long, long time.

_My fine friend_

_Take me with you and love me forever_

_My fine friend_

_Forever_

I looked at the pale winter sky outside my window and smoked the cigarette until it burned my fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So dears, here we are - at last.  
> Writing and posting this fic - and hearing your sweet and inspiring feedback - has been a truly amazing experience for me.  
> It is the first thing I've written just for the fun of it in probably a decade - and the first non-work-related piece I've ever completed, I think))) Actually it is my first fiction work in English too - I hope I wasn't too clumsy!!
> 
> I feel sad saying goodbye to Freddie and John. I don't think I will write anything else anytime soon - at least not anything multi-chaptered, although maybe the writing bug will not go away so easily and I'll venture for something really short.:)
> 
> Anyway it' a goodbye for the time being, and lots of love to each and every one of you:-*


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